


My Doctor

by MizukiMoon



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Identity Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24725185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizukiMoon/pseuds/MizukiMoon
Summary: Ever since that impossible man and his impossible box left her life, Rose has been feeling helpless. Wasting her life away in the parallel world, she feels powerless to change the unfair hand fate has dealt her. She spends her days apathetic and lost, dreaming of her adventures together with the Doctor, but deep down knowing that she will never be able to see him again.Until, one day, a strange man in a tweed jacket and bow tie stumbles through the doors of her café, and teaches her what it means to feel alive.And maybe, just maybe, she will also learn how to love again.(Eleven post-The Bells of Saint John, Rose post-Doomsday)
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor/Rose Tyler
Comments: 40
Kudos: 81





	1. The stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, mizuki here! 
> 
> Thanks so much for spending the time to read my story, I really appreciate it! X
> 
> Just some background knowledge: For Rose, this story occurs a few years after she is sent to the parallel world in Doomsday. She had not yet joined Torchwood and has decided to remain on the estate. For the Doctor, he is still recovering from losing the Ponds, but has just starting traveling with Clara when something very strange happens with the TARDIS....
> 
> Read on to find out!

It was raining heavily. The weather forecast this morning had predicted stormy weather, and as foretold, the heavens had opened. Now, gusts of wind and rain battered violently against the front window, making the old timber frame rattle like a dusty snare drum. Every once in a while, the wind would calm, only to pick back up, sending the door fluttering back and forth and startling the customers brave enough to sit at the tables awkwardly crammed next to the entranceway. 

It was on days like these that Rose missed him the most. When the nights were colder and days shorter. When the sky was grey and engulfed by a thick blanket of cloud. It was in times like this when she truly began to feel the monotony of her regular life like a dull ache in her chest. On a night, she would often catch herself looking up at the sky, hoping that one day she might just spot a flash of blue or hear that wonderous sound. Even if for just a second, catch a glimpse of that impossible man and his impossible box. The man who had left her behind.

The dreary weather outside had surprisingly worked in her favour. The café was now brimming with people, mostly the older folk from the estate, but nonetheless busier than it had been for a while. The room hummed with a warm energy as the chatter of the customers rose and fell like waves, and it put Rose’s heart at rest a tad to see her little café finally receiving some business. All those sleepless nights worrying about next month’s bills suddenly started to seem a little less unbearable.

She knew deep down that he would be disappointed in her for not having made something out of her life. Her appetite for adventure had been so strong, to the point that she had been willing to leave her mum and Mickey behind, and yet, after all the amazing things he had shown her, she had ended back on the estate, doing nothing with her life. The café had seemed like a good idea at first. Something to concentrate on to forget the world she had left so abruptly, and although the novelty of making teas and coffees had comforted her at first, it had soon worn off. Now she was stuck behind a dated oak counter, hair pulled tightly into a bun and pinny tied around her waist, serving slices of dry Victoria sponge to aging members of the estate. Well, at least she had customers. The same could not be said of poor Jessica Morris down the road. Business at the moment was scarce.

It hurt, to know that he probably had moved on. He had always talked of his long life as if it was a curse, but from how Rose saw it, it was a gift. The countless places and people he would encounter would help to overcome the grief, the countless years he would live through would help him forget until finally, the memory of her face would leave him and she would become only a second in the story of his existence. For her, however, the grief would always be there. She would live out the mere flicker of her life always with the knowledge that the one person she had ever loved was gone and never coming back.

It did not stop her from hoping, though. Every time she walked down the street it was as her breath was stuck permanently in her throat as her eyes unconsciously scanned the faces passing her by. He had probably regenerated by now. She knew that, but she liked to think that even if he had, she would still recognise him. He would stand out, like a beacon amongst the tired professionals in suits and chatting friends sharing chips. Even if he had a different face, she would always know her Doctor.

It was at that moment that the bell on the door sounded out amongst the soft hum of café, and Rose realised that she had allowed her thoughts to get away from her again. She had been leaning against the counter, head in hand and gazing out the window at the rain lashing against the building front, but as soon as she saw a new customer enter, she shook herself out of her daydream and put on her best smile.

“Hi there! Welcome to Rose’s Kitchen”

The figure, who she realised was a young, rather handsome man, made a memorable entrance, stumbling in with the grace of an elephant, muttering to himself as he shook his damp, floppy hair like a disgruntled puppy. He seemed too caught up in his rampage against the weather to notice that she had said anything, so she just waited for him to place his order, watching him with an increasing sense of intrigue. As he pulled down on the lapels of his blazer, finally seemingly content with being out of the rain, she decided he definitely was an odd one. With his strange attire, he certainty fit in with the ambiance of the dated, but cosy café with its antique décor. His tweed blazer and questionable bow tie reminded her of the aging professors who had shuffled through the halls of her old university, but he moved with such an infectious energy, that even the usually silent regular customer huddled in the chair by the door put down her newspaper to greet him. He flashed her a wide smile and returned a few words of kindness before spinning on his heals and bounding over to the counter.

She managed a quick glance at his kind face and warm eyes as he scanned the selection of snacks on the counter. He picked up a few in rapid selection, turning them in his hands before putting them down seemingly as quickly as he had picked them up. “A pot of tea, please.” He said with speed, as if he was in a hurry to go somewhere despite the dreadful weather outside. “With lots of milk. Oh! And three sugars. I usually have four, but I’m on a diet you see. Or am from today onwards. That’s what normal, regular, unextraordinary people do, right-“

Rose, head admittedly spinning with the sheer velocity at which he spoke, did not even notice him stop abruptly until she looked up from jotting furiously on her small notepad. “Anything else-“

Now, she too went silent as she caught him staring at her intensely, and any concern about noting down his order swiftly disappeared. There was a strange look in his wide eyes that made her feel like a deer caught in headlights, eyes that simultaneously appeared so young and yet so old. Big, green, and sad. They looked like they had innumerable stories to tell. There was something about his gaze that drew her in, as if gravity was pulling her over the countertop, and yet it also filled her with a sudden, extraordinary sadness that sat heavy in her chest. Somehow, she knew that this man was like her. Out of time, lost.

And then the moment had passed. Rose shook off the eerie feeling, and it seemed like the man too was flustered, taking a few moments to respond. He ran a hand through his slightly damp and windswept hair. “Oh…anything else? No, no thank you”.

“No worries. Take a seat, sir. I’ll be right over with your tea.”

She returned to cleaning the counter, removing the empty cake displays and restocking the bowls of fruit and bags of crisps with robotic movements, like she had done a thousand times before. Making his way slowly towards the chair directly opposite her, he glanced back at her reaching for a teacup from the shelf behind the coffee machine. His expression could only be described as something short of astonishment and dread.

He stayed in the café for the next two hours, not once moving from his chair to grab a paper from the rack or extra sugar from the counter. Instead, he remained frozen, chin resting against his hand and his finger tapping his temple rapidly, as if thinking intensely. Rose could not help but catch him stealing glances of her every few seconds whilst she worked. Every now and again, she would feel the weight of his gaze in her direction and so would quickly sneak a peek at the stranger. He would lock eyes with her for a fleeting moment before tearing his gaze away, desperately searching for something to feign interest in. Every time, she would feel her heart jump slightly in her chest. It made her feel nervous, but in a good way, like a high school crush. It had been a while since she had felt anything like that.

He was a striking man, that was for sure. Not her usual type, but handsome, nonetheless. Everything about him was peculiar, from his unusual dress sense to his messy mane of hair that just about brushed the bottom of his neck, but there was something attractive in his distinct features. Whether it was his defined jawline or big, round eyes, she couldn’t tell. Or maybe it was that chin, you could take someone’s eye out with that chin. And yet, the way he was sat, huddled in his chair, made it seem as if he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the background. He was just so _alien_ , and yet, Rose wanted nothing more than to know more about him.

She racked her brain for a reason to go over and speak with him, when she noticed he hadn’t even touched his tea, which must have been cold by then. Not the best excuse she had ever come up with, obviously her skills were a little rusty at best, but it would have to do. Abandoning her cleaning cloth, she wiped her hands on her pinny a few times and flattened the strands of wild blonde hair that had escaped her bun. Noticing the confused expressions on the faces of the waiting customers, she muttered a few empty words of apology before making her way over to him. As if caught up in the intensity of his own stare, he did not even notice her until she was standing on the opposite side of the small, circular table, hands on hips. As soon his eyes darted to the figure in front of him, they widened in shock, and he jumped upwards with such force that for a split second, Rose thought he might fall off his seat. She wanted to chuckle at his clumsiness but maintained the friendly smile she had practiced for serving her customers.

“Are you finished with your tea, sir?” she said. He gave her a curt nod and Rose smiled in return. She went to pick up the teapot and unused teacup, feeling slightly embarrassed at the chip she spotted on the cup’s rim. The crockery in the café had all been found in local charity shops, being the only thing she could afford at the time, and so the cabinets in the café were filled with an array of mismatch, well-loved tableware that she had not minded before. Now, the wear-and-tear was blatantly obvious. She picked them up, but before returning, she leant back over one shoulder.

“May I ask you something, sir?” she said, heart jumping slightly at her sudden burst of confidence. Another nod. “Was there anything wrong with the tea?”

She did not believe he could look any more uncomfortable, but to her satisfaction she was proved wrong. His lips parted, and it seemed as if he was grasping at words to say. “I…um…I was…” She let him stumble for a few moments before interjecting again.

“It’s just you haven’t even touched it. If it was not to your liking, we would really appreciate any feedback so that we can improve our service for next time.” Her eyes never once left his astonished expression, and feeling rather proud of herself, she flashed him a cheeky smile. He seemed to be caught off guard at this. A ghost of a smile danced across his lips, but they swiftly returned to the small frown he was wearing before.

Quietness persisted for a few long moments. The intense, contemplative expression on his face was a striking contrast to the animated, almost child-like excitement that defined his movements when he had first come into the café, and for a moment Rose felt the need to speak, laugh, at least do something to break the awkward silence. She considered just jumping ship and returning to the safety of her counter. But then, as if he had read her mind, the man’s stiff posture eased slightly. It was only a small change, but in opening his chest a little and sitting back in his chair, he made Rose feel somewhat more at ease, and confidence flowed steadily back to her to calm her beating heart.

With renewed conviction, she put the teapot back down on the table and slid into the chair opposite him, resting her chin on her palm. “You know we’re closing in ten minutes, right?”

This time, the man did not jump back. Instead, his movements seemed tired as he sighed and rubbed a hand slowly over his forehead and eyes. “Sorry, I kind of just lost track of time, which is very unlike me. It’s been a bit of a day…”

She nodded, shrugging her shoulders “My God it has. If it’s any consolation, my shift doesn’t finish for another hour _and_ I’m going to have to walk home in that.” She jerked her head towards the front window and sighed with self-pity. She knew she should’ve brought an umbrella. “Hopefully it’ll let up in a bit or I might have to consider camping out here overnight!”

With that, the man responded with a small smile, and although it was only a little quirk of the lips, Rose counted it as a victory. “I’m Rose, by the way.” She tilted her head. “Couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t even touch your tea so I thought I would come over and see if you were okay.”

“That’s very kind of you...Rose” He paused slightly before gently saying her name, but as he said it, his smile widened slightly and his tone softened, as if he was taking great care with pronouncing every letter. Rose found herself touched somewhat by his warmth, and she smiled with genuine friendliness. Again, something she had grown unaccustomed to.

“Ah, it’s nothing.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name…”

Another pause, like he was thinking carefully about his response. “John.” He seemed to finally settle on. “John Smith.”

That name. Rose remained calm, but connotations of what it once meant to her returned to her mind after being shut out for so long. She could feel the ache in her chest again, heavy like lead. The man, John, just watched her, eyes narrowed slightly as if he was observing her reaction very carefully.

“I once knew a person who sometimes went by that name…” She began to explain but paused for a moment. No, this needed to stop. He was gone. “…but that doesn’t matter. A story for another time.”

She turned back towards him, smile reappearing. “What’s more important, John, is that I get your number!”

“My number…?” the speechlessness was back, and Rose had to confess, she found it rather endearing.

“You do have a phone right?” She felt a bit stupid for asking but judging by his fashion sense you couldn’t really be too careful.

“Of course I have a phone!” John exclaimed with a hint of the dramatism she had recognised earlier. “But, why on earth would you need my phone number?”

“Well, you know…” she started, but gave up, instead throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation. She had known that her flirting skills would be a little rusty from being unused for so long, but she not expected them to be this bad. Or maybe it was John, she thought as she eyed his dated jacket and slightly too-long hair. “Oh, just give it here!”.

As soon as he drew his, albeit dated, phone from the interior pocket of his blazer, she plucked it from his hands, making sure he saw the wink she sent his way. His mouth widened in shock, and she could not tell if the gasp of disbelief and astounded expression that accompanied were real or fake. Either way, as she keyed in her number into his, rather empty, contacts list, she was filled not only with a long absent feeling of nervous excitement but also a deep sense of déjà vu, as if she had been there before.

“There…” she said as she typed in the last number. “Do with it what you will.”

She handed it back, and he bobbed his head. “Thanks.”

Glancing at the clock then at the rest of the room, she noticed with regret that closing time had swiftly arrived, and that they were now the only two left in the café. Getting up from the chair, she walked over to the door to flip over the sign to closed, looking back at him to say. “I would love to chat with you some more, but unfortunately I have to close, and I’ve got a load of cleaning and dishes to get through before I pack up for the night.”

“Oh! No worries!” John said apologetically, jumping up from his seat and reaching inside his blazer pocket again, this time pulling out a blue leather wallet. “I knew this would come in handy.” He muttered to himself. “How much do I owe you for the tea?”

“It’s on the house!” Rose called over as she made her way to the counter. As John tried to protest, she just waved her hand and shook her head. “Nonsense, you didn’t drink any of it. There’s no need to pay!”

“That’s very generous of you.” He replied, slipping the wallet pack into his jacket. As he made his way, albeit slowly, to the door, Rose glanced at the mountain of washing up piled up in the large sink, then back at him, before blurting out before her mind could tell her otherwise.

“Well, if you’re not too busy, then I guess you could stay behind and keep me company whilst I finish up? You know, in return for the tea…”

John, at hearing the words leave her lips, stopped dead in his tracks, back turned to her and hand gripping the door handle. He did not move, but even from behind the counter Rose could make out the tension in his shoulders and arms. His knuckle began to turn white as he held on tightly to the handle, as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. His entire body seemed as if it was desperate to leave the building, and Rose, who considered herself a rather perceptive person, clearly understood that he wanted to go. Of course, it was silly of her to assume that at this late in the evening he would want to stay and talk to someone he had only just met a several hours ago and exchanged less than a few sentences with.

And yet, to her astonishment, he gradually let go of the handle, the reluctance in his posture seemingly vanishing into thin air. Spinning around, Rose could not help but to notice a slight spring in his step. “Okay Rose. Why not?”

“Brilliant!” She said, beaming. Still a little surprised, she tilted her head, gesturing to him to take a seat at the nearest table. “Let’s get started then…”

He smiled warmly, muttering under his breath but still loud enough that Rose could hear it. "Geronimo..."


	2. The morning shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and John discuss past pains and future aspirations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all intents and purposes, I have tweaked Rose's background history a little to fit my story! But don't worry, nothing too much!
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy this chapter! Since I'm stuck at home at the moment due to Covid-19, I hope to update regularly :)

“So, why a café?"

Sunlight glistened gently through the window, bathing the room in a warm apricot hue as the sun rose slowly from behind patches of dark cloud. It was quiet, apart from the usual hum of traffic and people on their way to work from behind the café door, as all morning shifts tended to be for Rose. Except, this time she was not alone. John was sat on the countertop, legs swinging back and forth as he watched her emerge from the storage room behind the coffee machine, precariously balancing several boxes of earl grey and breakfast tea and a tray of brownies she had made the day before. The pile of, rather heavy, things swayed dangerously from left to right, and as if he could see just how the situation would end, John slid off the counter, running over to Rose’s side to grab a few boxes. “Here, let me.”

“Thanks!” she said gratefully. She probably would have cried if those brownies had ended up on the floor. All night she had stayed up, making dozens of batches of cakes in her cramped kitchen. Now, she began to regret it, as her vision grew increasingly blurred and her eyes strained as she tried desperately to stay awake. Early night tonight it was then. She placed the tray carefully by the cake display and went to fetch the jars of tea that needed replenishing. “What would I do without you John?”

He chuckled warmly. “Well I think you would do just fine, Rose Tyler.”

She smiled. She liked it when he used her full name.

“Make yourself useful then, over here!” she called out, pointing at the boxes cradled in his arms and tilting her head in her direction. He tossed them over to her one by one. Well, tried to. His aim was wildly inaccurate, and one box ended on the floor at least a foot in front of her, another in the sink to her left, and the last one hit her square in the nose.

“Oh dear…” John frowned, eyebrows furrowed and a sour look on his face. “…I could have sworn I was good at this.”

“Yeah! I’m fine, thanks for asking!” Rose huffed and dramatically swiped the box near her from off the floor, groaning as she stretched her aching limbs. Even though she was not one for self-pity, she could not help but feel a little sorry for herself. Sleep-deprived and old before her time, oh how she hated being a part the working world. She ripped open the packaging and the aluminium foil and began unpacking the teabags into the jars. The strong scent of earl grey and orange peel filled the room.

John’s tweed jacket had long since been abandoned by its owner, and it now lay discarded and folded absentmindedly over the back of a chair. Rose realised that it was probably because she had left the heating on too high again. Now warmth lay heavy in the air, making the room incredibly stuffy and for a brief moment she considered opening a window. But as she noticed John role up his sleeves and rest his hands on his hips as he gazed across the open space, she decided she could brave the heat for a little longer. He walked over to the sink, and Rose took the opportunity to steal a glance at him. Always the same jacket, shirt and crimson bowtie, but as she traced the outline of his wide shoulders, she noticed that the ensemble, which would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, seemed to suit him perfectly. She could not imagine him wearing anything else. Even if the bowtie was slightly harsh on the eyes.

It suddenly dawned on her that she would never be ready for opening if she kept on getting distracted, so forcing herself to concentrate on her work, she tore her eyes away from him and refocused on the task at hand. However, it was not long before her work was interrupted yet again. “You didn’t answer my question.” John said as he handed her the box from the sink. She looked up at him with a confused expression, so he elaborated. “Why did you end up running a café?”

John had been coming there for couple of weeks now. At first, he had been as shy and hesitant as he had been when she first met him, and yet, every day without fail, he had turned up at her door to help her as she worked. Sometimes it was in the evening, when she was exhausted and tired of cleaning. Sometimes it was in the morning, when still blurry eyed and struggling with her stubborn bed hair, she caught him standing outside the entrance waiting for her. He never phoned her in advance, just dropped by whenever, but Rose could not complain. She liked the company, and besides, it was John. There was just something about him that felt so familiar and comforting. They just clicked.

“You’ve been hanging around here for two weeks and only now you think of asking me that?” She asked incredulously. “Sometimes, I really do wonder about you!”

“Oi!” He said with an offended tone, but followed up with a small smirk as he walked over to the cake stand. He began unwrapping the brownies, arranging them on the white porcelain cake stands. “It’s just that you don’t strike me as a person who is excited by the world of catering.”

“Neither do you, and yet here you are!” Rose exclaimed, raising an eyebrow. “You are such a child sometimes…be careful with those!” She began to call out, but her voice trailed off as she watched almost in slow motion as John accidently dropped a brownie. His reaction was almost comic. He remained frozen for a moment, looking at the squashed cake lying on the newly washed floorboards, then suddenly jumped into action, crouching so fast that Rose barely noticed that he had dropped from her line of sight. He picked up the crumbling brownie with care, turning it in his hands and gazing at it mournfully.

“I don’t suppose that you could still use it?” He laughed nervously as he bounced back up again, only to be hit lightly by Rose on the arm. “Ow, what was that for?”

“Give it here” she said, chuckling. Taking the brownie, or what was left of it, from his hands, she broke it into two pieces and handed one half back to him, keeping one for herself. “Now eat it before I change my mind.”

John’s green eyes instantly lit up, and his lips lifted into a child-like smile as he took the brownie, stuffing it into his mouth so fast that it made Rose wonder whether he had eaten breakfast or not, having arrived at the café so early that morning. “Ph-anks” he tried to say, smiling so widely that it his full cheeks made him look like a chipmunk.

“Right, finish putting those brownies on the stand. And _carefully_.” She emphasised, pointing a finger at him and raising her eyebrows. “I’m just going to get the mop, _don’t_ mess anything up!”

Much to her annoyance, the mop was where she had last left it, hiding behind a crate of milk just beyond her reach. She really needed to stop being so lazy, chucking it anywhere after a long day of work. After a few efforts climbing the boxes, balancing rather dangerously on the edge of a metal shelf she finally managed to grab the handle and jump backwards, landing roughly. Thankfully, she managed to catch herself against the opposite wall, a hand shooting out before she fell on her backside. She signed in relief, glad that she had not embarrassed herself in front of her companion.

“Everything alright in there?” a voice sounded out from behind the door.

“Yeah, nothing to worry about!”

She came back into the café, thinking to herself that she really should try to organise the store cupboard, when she suddenly remembered what John had asked her. She faltered for a second and her heart lurched in her chest. Any gratification she had felt at her victory over the mop disappeared in an instant.

That question, she asked herself almost daily. Why was she still here, so determined to restore a run-down café to its former glory, when she should be out there, discovering amazing things and asking questions like the old days? She had been surprised to discover that the estate she grew up on was still there even though she had travelled, or more correctly was dragged against her will, to a distant parallel world. Mum and Dad had managed to escape the noise and the smoke and the streets lined with empty beer cans and dirty newspapers, so why had she decided to stay?

Returning to her spot by the till, they began to work in comfortable silence as she mopped up the remains of the brownie. Nevertheless, she still felt that familiar sense of dread eating at her insides, and she tried to bury it within her as she focused back on the lines of soapy water glistening on the oak floorboards. She was used to trying to forget. Every time she lay awake at night and was overwhelmed by the unfairness of it all, she would reason with herself, convince herself that this life was the best she was ever going to have. That she needed to settle down. She would repeat these words like a mantra as if they were true, and yet, as she said them, she would always recognise their artificiality.

She did not even realise that she had started to speak. “I didn’t exactly dream of running a café when I was a kid. In all honesty, I wanted to see the world, but as I grew older, I realised that life isn’t always fair, and that I had responsibilities I couldn’t run away from. Beggars can’t be choosers, and I’ve got to pay the bills somehow.”

Silence persisted for a second, before John asked her simply. “But?”

She found herself speechless for a moment, so dropped her head to avoid his line of sight, but she should have known better that that would not have stopped him. He abandoned the brownies, rushing to her side and turning so that his back was resting against the counter. Gazing down at her through the gaps in his messy fringe, the serious look in his mossy green eyes made her heart jumped slightly in her chest.

“But what?” She tried to shrug off the question, but deep down she knew she had conceded. Nervousness danced in the pit of her stomach, and she wasn’t sure if it was because John had managed with a single word to sum up the powerlessness she felt being stuck on the estate, or whether it was because as he swept around, his shoulder had brushed past her own. Maybe it was a bit of both.

Sighing, she crossed her arms, trying not to recoil as she found herself leaning slightly against his side. “But, I guess, in my heart I know that it isn’t what I want. What I truly want.” She pushed herself off the counter, suddenly feeling restless, and put the lid back on the jar of tea, placing it back on the shelf, all the while not looking at him. He did not have to say anything for her to realise he wanted to know more, so she explained. “I was born on this estate, spent my whole life here and thought I would be there until the day I died. Well, that was until one day I met someone. Someone who changed my life completely, for the better.”

She was shocked at how, all of a sudden, the words were hard to hold back. Pausing, she let her hands drop to the counter. It felt reassuring to feel something solid beneath her fingertips. “I went travelling with him. Travelling further than I had ever been before and it was terrifying, but it was also wonderful. Just wonderful.”

“What happened?” From behind her.

“I moved on.”

All she could feel under the pads of her fingertips was cool, smooth wood, until a weight pressed gently on her shoulder and a larger but still gentle hand grasped her own. The surface of his skin was almost as cold as the worktop, but as he softly rubbed his thumb back and forth over her knuckles, calloused and rough from the cleaning, she could feel a sense of warmth spill out from his touch, rising through the tired muscles of her arm until the feeling took root and blossomed in her heart. She could not help herself and found herself leaning into the touch, tears welling in the corner of her eyes. It was such a simple gesture, and yet it moved her immensely.

No, she would not cry. Not in front of him, and so she gathered herself up, breathing in deeply, sniffing a few times and wiping her eyes with the end of her sleeve before the tears threatened to spill. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” She tried to laugh.

“Just got one of those faces, I suppose.” He returned a small laugh, starting to let go of her hand as she spun around to face him, putting on a brave face and the biggest smile she could muster, but she faltered as soon as her eyes met his. The worry that had defined them moments ago was gone, in its place a deep, inexplicable sorrow that seemed to emanate from the inky blank of his pupils. It was like, for the first time, she was truly seeing him. Stripped of his initial nervousness, the childishness and the bravado she had come to recognise in his actions, he seemed so exposed in that second, that as the two of them stood there, hanging in that frozen moment where their thoughts seemed to collide, she understood like she had when they first met that he was just as lonely as her, if not more. And this sadness, this grief that she recognised as the strange glint in the corner of his eye, was her own. And she was not afraid of it, no. Rather, it felt like home.

It was as if he had reverted back to the moment they first lay eyes on each other. Two weeks of confidence vanished in a matter of seconds, and he snatched back his hand as swift as the wind that was starting to build up again outside as the morning sun glistened from behind dirty concrete and council flats. Instead, the restraint had returned. He looked almost guilty as he held his hands behind his back, tense as if he was trying to stop himself from reaching and interlocking his fingers with hers. She felt his absence like someone thirsty craves water.

“I better…” he stuttered, eyes wide as if he had been caught red-handed doing something wrong. He glanced back, pointing at the half-finished cake display.

“Yes, yes…” Rose managed to reply, a little flustered. “I’ll just get the money for the till.”

From then on, the minutes flew by in silence until there was only a few left before customers would start walking through the door. Rose scanned the space quickly. Tables clean? Check. Coffee machine on? Check. Till full? Check. She was done, and with time to spare.

For the past twenty minutes, John had been reclining on one of the battered leather armchairs by the fireplace. He had been sitting so still that Rose had thought that he had fallen asleep, but as if he knew she had finished with her work, he looked up at her, shooting her a small, but tender smile. It was almost apologetic. She made her way over to him, dropping onto the other chair like a heavy stone. The chair creaked, as if it were groaning underneath her weight. She laughed a little, feeling the tension that had been in the air dissipate as John joined in.

“So, what do you do John?” Rose asked coyly, realising that she _still_ did not know. She felt a little bad that she still knew so little about him, but it was not like she had never wondered. She had actually spent the first few days of knowing him trying to figure out what he did for a living, throwing guesses his way whenever she thought he may have let his guard down, but not matter what she said, teacher, scientist, writer, he always refused to give an answer. Not even a clue as to what he did, and so she had been left in the dark.

“Ah, you don’t want to know about me.” He said quietly. “I’m boring. A better question is, now that we’ve established that the life of a waitress is not for you, what are you going to do now?”

Rose turned to look at him incredulously. “What?”

“You heard me…” he said, eyebrows raised and mouth pulled into a little frown, an expression that suggested innocence, but she knew he was up to something else. “…you must have dreamed of doing something else. Why don’t you give it a try?”

She scoffed in disbelief. “What, and give up my only source of income? I stopped dreaming a while ago John.”

“Oh, come on!” he said, his lips pulled into a playful smile. He leant forward, his elbows resting against his knees. “I don’t believe you. What is it that you’ve always wanted to do?”

He really was not going to give up any time soon, was he. “Well, I guess I’ve always wanted to help people. I even had this crazy plan about a year ago, where I wanted to train to become a nurse. But that would be ridiculous!”

“Why?”

She laughed. “Me? A nurse? That’s way beyond me.”

He just stared at her, his round eyes creasing lightly at the corners and his fringe falling to one side as he tilted his head, smiling at her as one smiles at an old, old friend.

“Something tells me that you, Rose Tyler, would be simply fantastic.”


	3. The first day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much to her own shock, Rose manages to get on the nursing course of her dreams. But the surprises do not stop there!

The Florence Nightingale Faculty of Nursing, Midwifery & Palliative Care was an imposing building. Its yellow façade stood out from the grey metal and glass of nearby modern structures and reminded Rose of the frosting on yellow fondant fancies. The outer walls were lined with large white-framed windows, stretching upwards six stories. Walking, in some cases running, back and forth through the entrance were crowds of students. Some of them were talking excitably with their friends, their young faces and eager expressions a telling sign that they were just starting their first term at University. Others appeared more morose, shuffling through the automatic doors with shoulders hunched and hands grasping colourful travel mugs filled with sweet coffee. The campus was alive with the hum of chatter, almost drowning out the intercom that sounded out every few seconds, informing students of upcoming events and talks.

Excitement bubbled in the pit of Rose’s stomach. It was worlds apart from the claustrophobic estate and the handful of faces she had grown up seeing every day.

Taking a deep breath, she walked through the entrance, finding herself in in a surprisingly modern reception hall. Students far younger than her reclined on a scattering of mustard yellow and lime green sofas, whilst groups led by serious-looking people in white lab coats marched down the adjourning corridors. Rose glanced at the signs to her left: paediatrics and midwifery. Thank God she had applied for adult nursing. If there was one thing she was confident about, it was that she was terrible at working with kids.

Grasping the admission letters tightly, Rose made her way to the nearest desk, clearing her throat as she caught sight of a person in business dress behind the counter. The man looked up, flashing her a friendly smile.

“Hello there, how can I help?”

“Hi, I’m here to register my place on the nursing course.” She said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear like she always did when she was nervous. “I’m Rose, Rose Tyler.”

“Let me just check the database.” He furrowed his eyebrows as his eyes rapidly scanned the computer screen in front of him. “Ah, yes, Miss Tyler. Welcome to King’s College London, and a particularly warm welcome from the faculty. Can I see proof of your placement?”

Rose handed over the documents in her hands, slightly embarrassed at how dented and crumpled they looked. The receptionist did not seem to mind, however, and he took them gratefully. Nodding his head, he spun around swiftly on his desk chair and reached for a red folder on the shelf behind him. He filed the letters away, then reached under the desk, pulling out a large brown paper envelope, stuffed to the brim and with her name pencilled in the corner.

“Here’s an undergraduate pack for you.” He handed it over the countertop. “Now, I know it looks rather intimidating, but in it amongst all the promotional leaflets is a booklet detailing all the introductory sessions for today, and a map. New students tend to find that very helpful. It’s easy to get lost in a big building like this.”

She nodded in agreement, laughing politely. He smiled again, kind but obviously professional.

“The first welcome talk is in lecture hall B3.” Her confused expression clearly spoke volumes, as he went on to elaborate. “Just down the corridor to your right, follow the signs to the first floor and you’ll see the queue of students waiting to be let in.”

She thanked him, then hurried down the corridor, aware that she was a few minutes late.

When she had heard the news that she had been accepted into King’s College London as a mature student studying nursing, to say she was shocked was an understatement. She had considered it entirely impossible, considering her A-level grades had averaged at a C, or so she had thought. Miraculously, upon applying to the prestigious university on a whim, she had discovered that on record she had somehow become a straight-A student overnight. It was strange, considering she could remember quite clearly that she had not revised for biology, and yet, here she was, feeling like an intruder and way out of her depth. Maybe John was her lucky charm.

She joined the back of the queue, not daring to make conversation with the people in front of her. Their laughter and chatter were as staccato as gunfire. Compared to her, they were so full of youth and passion, ready to tackle their degree head on and completely unaware of what life would throw at them, but Rose’s youthful innocence had been stripped away from her the moment she had stepped through the doors of that impossible blue box. She had seen the death of planets, civilisations burning, tragedies lost to history. They probably did not even know how to cook for themselves yet.

Finally, after what seemed like an eon of waiting, but was probably only fifteen minutes, the queue started to inch forward as, student by student, they were let into the lecture hall. Even the TARDIS could not compare to the size of the room. Rows upon rows of foldable chairs stretched out in front of her like a sea of soft red fabric. They converged at the bottom of a steep incline of stairs, at which stood a single black desk, sleek and angular. A projector hung from the ceiling, which rose above her and undulated like small waves made of white plaster, and on the great expanse of screen behind the desk shone a PowerPoint, which like its surroundings was simple, yet modern. Looking for a seat, Rose saw that the students had generally avoided the front row, preferring to hide at the back in anonymity. She sighed and resigned to her fate, making her way down to the few remaining seats directly in the firing line of the professor standing behind the desk. So much for keeping a low profile.

As soon as she sat down, the soft murmur of voices in the hall slowly receded and she looked up from her brochure to see the professor waiting patiently for silence. She was a severe-looking woman, her slim frame packed into a tight, well-tailored suit. Although she looked fairly young considering her title, a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses balanced on the end of her nose, making her very much the caricature in Rose’s mind of a strict old teacher. The students gradually grew quiet and she nodded, seemingly satisfied, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder as she gave her audience a small, tight smile.

“Welcome students to the Florence Nightingale Faculty. I’m Professor Wilson” She began, standing so upright that Rose was reminded of a puppet fixed on a string. “We are honoured to have you here. This year we saw a record number of students apply to our course on adult nursing, so before we start, I would like you to know that you are truly the best of the best. “

Her acceptance really must have been a mistake in the paperwork, Rose thought.

“Today is the first day of many that you will be spending here at the faculty, and you will be with us for three years. Rest assured, that you will be taught with the latest technologies and by some of the finest talents in the medicine world…”

Rose let her mind wander. She was never one for motivational speeches, anyway. Occasionally she would nod her head as if engaged, just in case the professor caught her dead-eyed stare and absent mind. Something told her that Professor Wilson liked to be respected by her students and expected nothing less that their full attention, even when the subject matter was as boring and predictable as this. Nevertheless, as she droned on, Rose’s eyes started to feel heavy, and she struggled against the urge to fall asleep. She had not slept well the night before; nerves having kept awake as they fizzled and pulled at the lining of her stomach. Plus, the professor’s monotonous voice did not help, the words sending her to sleep like a lullaby, so eventually, as the minutes passed slowly by, she gave in and fell deeper into her daydream.

For some reason lately, whenever Rose wanted to take her mind off something she would think of him. She had spent her days in the café waiting for him to arrive and after he left, she would pass the time distracting herself with television, cleaning, shopping, anything to forget how she desperately wanted him there, with her. Rose did not know what to call it. She tried to tell herself that they had only known each other for just over a month. That she barely knew nothing about him. That maybe, she was just missing the excitement of having someone in her life that she connected with, that she could laugh with. Someone she could love. All of these wishes, she was simply projecting onto a stranger who had entered her life so conveniently, and yet, no matter how hard her head tried to rationalise and argue, her heart knew better. These feelings, this vulnerability, she had shown to someone before. And it scared her to think that, no matter what she did, it was going to happen all over again.

She did not know what caught her attention, but something in the air suddenly felt different, and so Rose shook her head slightly, discreetly waking herself up from her daydream. Professor Wilson was _still_ talking, but this time, she could hear movement from the very back of the hall, and some of the more curious students turned their heads to see what all the commotion was about. Rose, being in the front row, did not dare turn her back on the professor, who was unsuccessfully trying to hide the visible irritation on her face, and it took all of her willpower not to look. Instead, she focused on the projection as the professor began to speak again.

“Ah, Professor Smith, so nice of you to join us, even if you are a little early…”

A voice, drawing ever nearer, echoed around the room behind her, accompanied by the sound of rapid footsteps. Rose knew that voice, and her blood suddenly ran cold in her veins. Here? All of places?

“Early? Are you sure? You see, I’m never wrong when it comes to time.”

Of all things, a doctor. Of course he was. Rose could not help but see the irony.

Wearing a pure white lab coat over his usual dress shirt and crimson suspenders, John walked into view, bouncing down the stairs with his signature excitable energy. His hair was more tidy than usual, combed back into place to suit the more professional occasion, but Rose liked it better when it was wild, especially that strand of hair that usually stuck up from his fringe as if it did not quite know where it should go. As always, his face was lit up with a wide, infectious smile set into his high-rising cheeks. His eyes glinted with a speck of mischievousness. It felt strange, seeing him actually have a job. Rose had assumed that he was more of the freelancer type.

As he passed by Rose’s side, for a moment the scent of dusty tweed, polished metal and the freshness of grass after rain danced faintly on the rush of air he left in his stead. It was a scent Rose recognised from somewhere, an unusual combination but comforting none the less, and it made Rose realise how much she had missed his unexplained absence for the past few days.

“Right then!” John exclaimed as he walked up to the desk, leaning casually on the side in a manner most jarring compared to his co-worker, who stood as still and uptight as a statue, still shocked at the interruption. Clasping his hands together, Rose could have sworn that he shot a subtle wink in her direction. She was going to kill him. “The lovely professor here has asked me to come and speak a few words with you lot, something about starting at a new university, educational integrity, that sort of nonsense. Honestly, I know about as much as you do, it’s been so long since I completed my doctorate in cheese-making that I’ve practically forgotten the inner workings of student life.”

He laughed to himself, but quickly stopped when he realised no one else was joining in. “Tough crowd today, huh?”

Rose really had to try hard not to chuckle. This was far better than the tiresome speech beforehand.

He continued, waving his hands in the air around him with a touch of theatricality, as if he was a painter explaining his finest work to an eager audience. “Well, advice-wise…just don’t spend _all_ your time partying, dancing, going to the discotheque or whatever it is that young people do nowadays. Read books. Sleep. Oh, and stay away from apples, apples are evil.”

The silence that followed was excruciating, and Rose found herself wanting to fold in on herself, crawl into a ball, to do anything to get away from the second-hand embarrassment. The students around her simply stared at the man in front of them, who seemed to be only a handful of years older than themselves and yet acted as if he was an old madman driven crazy by age. Some gazed on in confusion as they tried to piece together his line of thought. Others in pure amusement at the peculiar professor in a bowtie and bracers that had been presented to them. The whole ordeal had lasted less than a minute, but in that time, John had successfully rendered the entire audience completely speechless.

“Um, thank you, Professor Smith.” Professor Wilson coughed awkwardly, finally having come to her senses again. John seemed unaware, or otherwise unbothered, by the tinge of sarcasm that laced her words and instead continued to stand there, grinning like an idiot, hands still clasped together. “Those were some, um, very _interesting_ recommendations that I’m sure the students won’t forget anytime soon.”

John smiled a little smugly before nodding his head, rather happy with his work. “I look forward to seeing you all very soon.”

Making his way up the stairs, he passed Rose without looking at her, and she felt a pang of disappointment that he had not acknowledged her. Or so she thought. On the step above her, John suddenly ground to a halt, back facing the front of the auditorium.

“Oh, and before I go, I just need to borrow Miss Tyler for a moment. Do excuse us.” He added, turning around and grabbing her hand so quickly that Rose had barely registered what was happening before they reached the door.

“What are you doing?” She hissed, but John just smirked, pulling her out of the room and away from the gaze of hundreds of confused and curious onlookers.

The cooler air of the corridor was a welcome difference from the stuffy lecture hall. As Rose stumbled through the doorway into the empty hallway, cursing and complaining under her breath, she snatched her hand from John’s. He turned around and frowned at her stance, arms folded and face contorted into an angry frown. Her hair, in the struggle up the stairs, had fallen from her bun. Wild baby hairs stuck up from her fringe as she breathed heavily, slightly confused and very embarrassed.

“What the hell was that?” she scoffed in disbelief. She went to hit his forearm, but he had clearly learnt since last time, and he leaped back dramatically, looking back and forth from his arm to her with wide eyes.

“Nice to see you too, Rose Tyler.” He offered up a nervous smile as she shot him a murderous glance. “What a coincidence meeting you here.”

“Are you stalking me?” She narrowed her eyes and stepped forward. John shuffled back further, his back meeting the wall behind him.

“Stalking?!” He exclaimed incredulously, but his poker face betrayed him as Rose spotted a sort of guilty tension painted on his features. “No, no…”

“Then what?”

“I just needed a job. I've always wanted to be able to say that I'm an actual doctor and I remembered talking with you about the nursing course here. So, I applied for a vacancy...”

They remained frozen in the position, Rose staring up at him, reading his expression as he squirmed against the wall, arms spread out either side of him and fingers splayed against the freshly painted uneven pattern of bricks. Her eyes flicked back and forth between his expression and his body language, which was gripped with tension as if he was a captured animal ready to bolt. He remained silent, as if under the heel of her menacing glare. Gotcha, she thought.

Suddenly, from around the corner to their left, a figure emerged, carrying a stack of textbooks as he marched with purpose in their direction. As Rose caught sight of him, her mind registered just how odd she and John must look to those passing by, and sure enough, as the man walked past, he stopped for a moment, face pulled into a confused frown at the scene of a man being intimidated by someone at least half a foot shorter than him. Rose smiled tentatively and stepped back, easing up slightly as she watched the man spin on his heels and continue down the corridor. As soon as he disappeared from sight, she turned back to John, who jumped slightly when her gaze returned to him. He stepped forward slowly.

“Am I safe now?”

“Oh…shut up.”

\---

Thirty minutes later, they found themselves in the faculty café, her sipping on a black americano in a shiny white ceramic mug as he took big gulps of a hot chocolate to which he had added three sugars, much to Rose’s disgust. The eatery was well lit by a ceiling littered with warm glowing lightbulbs hanging from lengths of thin black wire. In front of them stood the counter, behind which, amongst house plants in terracotta pots, young people in aesthetic outfits dusted cinnamon powder onto soya lattes. The room opened up onto a terrace, abandoned due to the drizzle of rain outside, but the light from the floor to ceiling windows nevertheless danced across the glass photo frames on the wall, in which hung minimalistic sketches of famous alumni. On their table sat two Chelsea buns complete with lashings of icing sugar. John placed down his half-finished drink and reached for one, taking a huge bite and smiling contently.

“So, where have you been for the past few days?” Rose inquired, giving in to temptation and reaching for her cake.

“Oh, you know, doing this and that.” John replied, as elusive as ever. “Besides, I didn’t want to disturb your important work. I’ve heard that University applications can be quite taxing.”

“Well, I found it surprisingly easy.”

“Strange.” He said, unable to hide the playful smirk on his lips. “Maybe you had a bit of help.”

He paused for a moment, looking at her mysteriously and smile deepening, only to interject again before Rose’s suspicions could grow. “How are you finding it then?”

She shrugged. “It’s only been a day, so I can’t really tell, but the staff here seem really friendly and the building is really nice. It’s so strange to be back here, at Uni. I didn’t even finish my last degree, and I’d forgotten how _different_ it is from the estate!”

“Good, glad to know you’re settling in well.” He nodded before stuffing the remaining bit of bun rather ungracefully into his mouth. Rose could not help but giggle at the sight.

“You haven’t said why you’re here though, John.” She put forward, eager to know but not keeping her hopes up. After all, he had a bit of a track record when it came to talking about himself. “How come you’re a professor? You can’t be much older than me and as far as I know, and becoming one usually takes quite a while.”

Much to Rose’s surprise, however, John leant back in his chair and as if he truly recognised the keenness in her voice, he began to explain. “It’s true, I’ve never been a professor of medicine before, per say. But like you, I applied for the job and when they saw my credentials, they knew they just had to hire me.”

“Okay, Professor Smith.” Rose said sarcastically, smirking. “What credentials would those be? Definitely not from the school of fashion that’s for sure.”

“Oi, don’t underestimate a bow tie. Bow ties are cool.”

Rose rolled her eyes as he grabbed his tie, pulling it tighter and lifting his chin in a sense of pride. “Sure.”

“Actually, it’s family ties. You see, I’d already earned my doctorate in medicine, and when the University found out that my…grandfather had studied at this very faculty, they were very happy to have me take up the vacancy.”

“Grandfather?”

“He had studied here in the ‘60s. Rumour has it that he even completed the course in less than 3 months.”

“No way…”

“Yes way.”

Leaning her elbow on the table-top, she buried her chin in the palm of her hand. “So, I’m going to be seeing a lot more of you then?”

“Naturally. It looks like I’ll be teaching some of your classes too.”

“Really?”

“The one’s in King’s College hospital, yes.”

“That’s so weird.” She began but realised that she had actually said her thoughts out loud. John shot her a confused look and so she rushed to explain. “Not in a bad way! It’s just that, I’m assuming, we’re around the same age and yet _you’ll_ be teaching _me_.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Of course not!” She shook her head and waved her hands frantically, not wanting to offend. “I guess it’s just something I’m worried about, being a mature student and all.”

Looking around at the clusters of students gathered together on mismatched comfy sofas, she sighed. “Everyone here is so young compared to me. They’re just starting out on their journey, and look at me, twenty-five and only just doing something with my life now.”

John look at her from across the table, fingers laced together under his jaw as his eyes searched her own. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s true. Anyways, since when has twenty-five been old? You’ve got your entire life still ahead of you!”

“I suppose…” she trailed off as she reached for her coffee, draining the last of the strong, earthy liquid as she cradled the empty mug in her hands. She debated getting another one, considering her bout of insomnia recently, but she decided against it. Her wallet was looking a bit thin, after all.

“This place is named after Florence Nightingale.” Rose said after a moment of silence, a tinge of nostalgia to her voice.

She smiled to herself as good memories rose to the surface of her mind. She had met Florence personally when she was travelling with the Doctor. They had decided that, after the events on New New York, they needed time to relax and for him to settle into his new body after the regeneration. Florence had always been a hero to Rose in her childhood, and so she had begged him to take her to see her. It did not take much convincing, and when she finally saw the Lady with the Lamp in the flesh, it was like a dream come true. She had wanted nothing more than to talk with her all night long, but in the end, they had spent their time running around the battered tents in the Crimean medical camp, trying to stop an alien invasion after the Nestine Consciousness had reared its ugly head. Again. Rose still remembered how he had grabbed her hand, leading her through the maze of tent pegs and boxes of equipment as the dusky haze of evening slowly captured the cloudy sky. She should have been worried about the imminent alien threat, but her mind was rather more occupied with the feeling of his cold lean fingers grasping her own.

John cleared his throat. “Yes, she was a wonderful woman. A particularly good runner, if I recall.”

“I had a book about her when I was a kid.” She said as she placed her empty mug down. “I grew up always wanting to be her.”

“Well then, Rose.” John began, leaning forward to meet her line of sight. “Maybe now you can make that wish come true.”


	4. The London Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and John take a spontaneous walk around London, and Rose muses on her past life with the Doctor.

The weather was horrible.

Sparse columns of winter sunlight shone through the cracks in the blanket of clouds above her, doing nothing to quell the biting cold that snaked through the tightly packed buildings surrounding King’s College Hospital. Gusts of wind sent shivers down Rose’s spine. She grasped her thick brown trench coat, pulling it tighter around her and shifting her aged black handbag back onto her shoulder as she exited the grand building. The air was humid, a tell-tale sign that rain was on its way. And yet, the street was littered with people, waving down cabs with rolled-up newspapers and marching across uneven concrete in pencil skirts paired with kitten heels. The city was alive, bustling with energy even in the depths of November.

Rose turned the corner, heading towards the tube station. Commuting was not her favourite part of the day, but she did not want to live in student accommodation alongside eighteen-year-olds who thought a fun night out was puking their guts out on a dirty street corner. Besides, the thirty minutes it took her each way was a good opportunity to study and complete her assignments before heading back to the café to close-up. She had hired a couple of people to help her manage whilst she was away, but she still felt a degree of responsibility towards her little business and was determined to oversee it no matter how busy she was.

She finally reached the station and was about to enter when she felt a hand grab her shoulder. Spinning around, she was prepared to give a street-seller a piece of her mind when she recognised that floppy mane of hair, kind smile and questionable fashion sense.

“John!” She said, genuinely happy. “Fancy seeing you here! I’ve never seen you take the tube before.”

John let his hand fall from her shoulder before reaching for his collar, pulling down on the lapels of his coat a little bashfully. “Actually, I’m not here to travel. I saw you leave the hospital and thought I would come and see if you wanted to spend some time together, but it looks like you’re on your way home. I won’t bother you!”

“Oh no, no.” She rushed to explain. “I could actually do with a distraction. Work has been taking a toll on me lately, so it would be really nice to take a break for a while.”

“Oh, fantastic!” He said, a tad surprised, but expression warm nonetheless. Sweeping his arm dramatically towards the entrance, he flashed her a dashing smile. “Where too, my lady?”

“You’re so strange.” Rose chuckled, pulling her crimson scarf a little tighter around her neck.

“Naturally.”

“Well then, let’s just have a walk. See where the city takes us.”

Together, they left the station, making their way down the winding streets in which ever direction took their fancy. Filtered sunlight glistened on the mirror-like facades of modern tower blocks and bounced off the brass windowpanes and flowerpots of older Georgian builds. This time, John wore a longer dark brown trench coat similar to hers. It fitted him perfectly, billowing out from behind him as they paced down the roads, Rose struggling to keep up with his larger stride. As he talked, Rose took the time to gaze at his features, skin so smooth and devoid of the lines that even she was starting to develop from the stress. He bounded along the pavement, twirling around lampposts with such energy. And yet, despite this apparent youth, Rose could detect something older, more experienced behind the pretence of a young man. It was something she resonated with.

Rose found that she could talk about all sorts with him. Conversation flowed so naturally. As they traversed the streets of central London, they jumped from subject to subject almost as swiftly as the wind that was starting to pick up as evening sun hung lower and lower in the sky. Rose realised time had gotten away from her, but she did not mind. As they grabbed a bite to eat, she discussed her desire to travel, how everything on TV these days was boring, even how the coffee in their regular café had gone up by a pound. But no matter how mundane, John always listened intently to what she had to say. And then she would ask him about his travels, and he would describe to her with wide eyes and an expression of wonder the amazing places he had visited, and she would wonder how he had fitted it all in his short life.

Finally, they arrived at Westminster bridge. The clock face of Big Ben loomed above them and Rose remembered the time when it had been cladded with scaffolding following the incident with the Slitheen. Now it was illuminated like a beacon in the dusk, them gravitating towards it like moths to a flame.

The bridge was heaving with people. After all, it was a Friday evening in the centre of the capital. As they walked together, Rose caught sight of couples passing them by, hands clasped together and bodies pressed against each other out of affection and protection against the cold. She felt a pang in her heart as she gazed at them, jealous.

That was until, as if he had read her mind, John reached over and gently intertwined his fingers with hers. Rose looked up at him in shock, not expecting anything so out of character. But he was staring the other way, whistling and pretending to look about something on the riverbank across from them. Nevertheless, he couldn’t hide from her the small smile that graced his lips. Rose smiled too, leaning in a little closer so that her forearm was touching his.

Walking hand in hand, they arrived at the South Bank. To their left, the London Eye reached upwards towards the faint outline of stars beginning to appear in the navy blue sky. Her feet tired and aching, Rose suggested that they sit down, and so they found a nearby bench that overlooked the river. The glistening skyline of skyscrapers, converging on the imposing building of the House of Parliament, was reflected on the rippling surface of the Thames. The mirrored image rose and fell with the waves, shimmering like the stars above them. It was if the city itself was breathing as noise, light and movement ebbed and flowed.

It was far from silent, with tourists persisting well into the late evening. But as they sat there, gazing out at the cityscape side by side, Rose felt at peace for the first time in a long, long time.

“You know…” she began, breaking the comfortable silence between them. “…I should really do this more often. Even when you live and work here, its so easy to forget how beautiful the city can be.”

John hummed softly in agreement.

“Today has been so nice.” She continued. “It’s been ages since I last took a break from work. What with the degree. Running a café _and_ studying at university is _hard_ , even though I have employees!”

“Employees….” John seemed to ponder the word for a moment. “Remember when we met, you were so adamant that you were nothing special. You would never have guessed that someday you would have people working for you! Well _, I_ knew you had it in you.”

“Thanks!” She said, grateful for the darkness and how it hid the blush she could feel rising to her cheeks. “You know, I’ve never met anyone quite like you John. You’ve helped me so much. I wouldn’t be here, studying the degree of my dreams if it wasn’t for you.”

His grasp on her hand grew a little tighter. “My pleasure, Rose Tyler.”

She began to swing her legs back and forward, the heels of her black ankle boots scuffing the pavement. “I am a little worried though.”

When John flashed her a concerned look, she smiled reassuringly. “It’s nothing huge, just that now I’m paying others at the café, money is becoming a bit tight. Rent is expensive in London, even if you live on a council estate like me. In all honesty, I’m not sure if I can keep it up for much longer…”

“I could help?” John said tentatively, shrugging. “I’m sure I could find the money somewhere to pay for-“

“No.” Rose interrupted, kind but firm. “This is my problem. If there’s anything that you have taught me, it’s that I need to start taking my life into my own hands. I could only do that if I face trouble head on.”

John paused for a moment, obviously surprised but Rose still saw a flash of something across his features, recognising it as pride. “That’s my Rose.”

Minutes ticked by. The darkness deepened and it was as if winter was descending upon them layer by layer as the temperature dropped. They sat, huddled under a lamppost’s dome of warm orange light, and listened as the wind whistled through the mechanical arms of the London Eye. The structure kept careful watch over the city as it turned endlessly, people still lining up in queues that twisted and turned around its heavy metal base. People who had no idea what had happened at that very spot only six years ago.

“Come to think of it…” Rose suddenly thought out loud. “…I’ve never actually been on the London Eye, and yet it’s a place that brings back so many happy memories for me.”

“You’re a Londoner, and you’ve _never_ been on the London Eye?!” John started, staring at her incredulously, but snapped his mouth shut as soon as he saw that she had a story to tell.

“I guess, the last time I was here, I didn’t have the time to.” She said, melancholy in her smile. “I was too busy running around, chasing after someone. He was a stranger to me at the time, but I still followed him. We came here, together.”

“He?”

“Is that jealousy I detect, John?” She attempted a playful tone, tossing her hair as she looked at him with a small smirk. He scoffed, but played along, nodding slightly but clearly aware that deep-down, she was still hurting.

“Yes, he. Remember the man that I said I went travelling together with, we met here in London. I was with him for a while and he meant everything to me.”

“What happened? You never told me.”

“He left. And I won’t ever see him again.”

“I’m sorry.” He said after a second. His voice was laced with heavy emotion, something akin to regret.

“There’s no need to apologise. It wasn’t your fault.”

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Rose feared that she had made the situation awkward. Admittedly, she had just brought up the man she used to love to another man, towards whom she was beginning to have all sorts of feelings. Smooth Rose, she thought to herself. She tried to disguise the upset on her features, but she knew all too well that she could never hide what she felt very well. Her face was a canvas, evidence of the sadness rooted in her because of the Doctor. John gazed at her, expression giving away nothing apart from a restrained, pale glint of something in the inky blackness of his pupils.

But then it was gone. His signature charming smile and electric eyes returned, and before Rose could register this change in demeanour, he was gripping her hand tighter and whisking her upwards and towards the London Eye. Rose tried to say something, but John got there first.

“All of this sadness, it doesn’t suit you Rose Tyler.” He said, grinning mischievously. “So, what are we going to do about that?”

They came to an abrupt stop at the bottom of the queue. Raising an eyebrow, John reached into the depths of his coat and pulled out his blue leather wallet, waving it in the air in front of her.

“John, there’s no need to pay for me…” she began, but he stopped her, bringing a finger to the arch of his lips.

“Who said anything about paying?” he said. Walking over to the booth, he pulled out a white card, flashing it at the ticket vender, who subsequently nodded his head and signalled for them to join the fast-track queue. John looked over his shoulder and called her over with a jerk of his head. “Coming Rose?”

In an instant, Rose’s face lit up, illuminated with surprise. She jogged over, reuniting her hand with his, and looked up at him in amazement. “How on earth did you do that?”.

He chuckled, slipping his wallet back into the inner pocket of his coat. “Nothing magical I’m afraid, just a pass for all of London’s biggest attractions.”

“But don’t you live here? Why would you want one of those?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He said, the look in his eyes suggesting fond memories. “I like to look back sometimes, visit my favourite places, relive my favourite bits. For some reason, London seems to crop up a lot.”

They only needed to wait five minutes. With excitement and tenderness bubbling in her chest, Rose could barely contain herself as they were called forward. Leaping into the glass pod, she found herself beaming as she dashed across the space to get the best view of the Thames. John followed, stepping through the doors with a smug, satisfied look.

“Quickly!” she called out, beckoning him over. “We need to get the best spot.”

“Somehow, I don’t think we’ll need to worry about that.”

Much to Rose’s surprise, John slowly raised his arms out to the sides, and like he was a conductor grasping invisible batons, he flicked his wrists. The doors, as if they were listening to his instructions, miraculously snapped shut behind him, leaving the two of them alone together in the pod as it shuddered and started to move. As his eyes met her own, Rose felt her heart plummet in her chest.

“Now that most definitely was magic.” She said, unable to find a possible explanation. He simply joined her at her side, smiling warmly and eyes shining.

The carriage rose gradually, slicing through the night sky. Overcome with happiness, Rose was instantly transported to her childhood, to the days when her Mum still took her on trips around the city. Dashing around the pod, she called out nearby monuments as they climbed higher and higher. She rushed back to where John stood.

“This is amazing!”

Glancing at him, she suddenly found herself transfixed. He was smiling, a sad, sad smile. The neon light of flashing billboards and nearby skyscrapers swirled and danced across his features, the colours churned together in his green irises, cascading into the dark chasm of his pupils. Glittering, they looked like the vast galaxies Rose had seen on her travels. He was gazing out of the window at the city, arms stretched out and hands clenching the metal barrier, in a protective, almost paternal manner. There it was again, that ancient look that sometimes escaped from his façade.

High above the ground, a lone figure staring down at the Earth below like a god in the company of mere mortals, John reminded her so much of him.


	5. The shopping trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose decides enough is enough, and that it is time they went clothes shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little note from me: I hope all of you are happy and healthy, are staying safe, and finally that this story will bring a little bit of happiness to you during such difficult times! :)
> 
> Thank you so much for the support x

“I don’t know what to do Rose!”

John was staring at her, a pleading look in his eyes.

They were stood outside the lecture hall entrance after one of John’s classes. It still felt strange to Rose, seeing him as a professor teaching a class of students not much younger than him. But he still remained as eccentric as ever, even if he was holding a lesson. Always full of energy, today he had danced around the beds filled with patients, actors of course, sporadically announcing symptoms and possible diagnoses as his lab coat trailed behind him. He always put on quite the show for his audience. Even if sometimes it was hard to keep up with his rapid line of thought.

But that was not to say his classes were not popular. Indeed, his students looked up to him as a source of inspiration, and he had grown to be fond of them too, always ensuring that their love for their subject was never tainted by seriousness or stress. He was like a father figure to them. Rose knew, because he always came to her when he could not solve the problems they had told him in confidence, desperate to help in any way he could even for the smallest of issues.

A stream of students flowed through the door, leaving to go to their next lectures or supervisions, a couple stopping for a fraction of a second to observe them talking. Rose did not blame them. Their professor begging one of their fellow students for help was bound to look at least a little odd.

“Can’t we do this another time?” Rose hissed, catching someone staring at her suspiciously. She could really do without the stress of rumours being spread around the faculty. Today, it might just be the talk of the class. By tomorrow, word of her spending time with him would be spreading like wildfire.

“No, you don’t understand!” John shook his head adamantly. “We need to talk about this _now_!”

Feeling her patience wearing thin and heat rising to her cheeks, Rose grabbed the arm of his jacket and dragged him around the corner out of sight. He stumbled after, shouting and complaining, until they stopped at a quiet corner. She spun him around, letting go of his lab coat, and her spare hand shot to support the pile of folders that had been balancing precariously in the other. If she had dropped her notes, she really would have killed him.

“You really choose your moments, don’t you!” She sighed, bringing her left hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose, before it darted back to catch the folders before they could fall. John gave her a confused look, so she conceded. “What? What is it you want help with?”

John smiled, completely oblivious of the stress he just caused her. “I need to go shopping, but need the advice of someone who knows how to dress normally…”

Rose raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, so you’ve decided you _are_ going to the Christmas Ball then?” She smirked triumphantly.

The King’s College Christmas Ball was the defining event of the term. Every student, professor, supervisor, even some of the campus staff went. It was not one to miss, even for John, whose social inability was painfully obvious to anyone who attempted to interact with him outside of the parameters of work. She _had_ spent days trying to convince him to go, but the young professor had presented her with an array of unconvincing excuses each time she asked. Thankfully, her nagging had seemed to pay off.

“Well, I couldn’t let you go alone, could I?” He said. “Besides, I’ll be there strictly in a professional capacity. Although, I do have a tendency to dance at these sorts of things…”

Rose felt her annoyance slowly drain away, but a tinge of irritation remained as it occurred to her just how hard it was to stay angry at the man in front of her. A man who seemed as socially aware as a small child, but clearly had her wrapped around his little finger.

“And you’ve only just realised that your clothes might be in need of an update?” she scoffed, not letting him get away so easily. She managed a slight quirk of a smile on her lips despite the beginnings of a headache starting to pound on the inside of her skull.

“What do you mean? My sense of fashion is impeccable!” He exclaimed, head darting up and down as he scanned his latest ensemble. A brown pinstripe waistcoat over a light blue dress shirt. And of course that bow tie. Hanging from his pocket was a small gold pocket watch, glistening under the artificial strip of lights above. A small improvement, but still not fashionable in any respect.

“Oh, come off it! You know exactly what I mean.”

And yet, it seemed as if he did not. He stared at her, genuinely confused and eyes wide with surprise. Rose felt a pang of regret in her chest. She did not mean to offend him, considering she actually quite liked his quirky sense of dress. It was ancient but comforting, like the front window of a dusty antique shop tucked away in some unknown corner of the vast city.

“Never mind.” She waved a hand nonchalantly. “Forget what I said.”

Waxen with tiredness, shrouded to the chin with scarfs and roll-neck jumpers and nose red with the beginnings of a cold, it was clear to John that she was not in the best of moods and did not care for mincing her words. In an instant his demeanour changed. It seemed to Rose as if he could do so as easily as flicking a switch. The bewildered and slightly hurt frown disappeared, replaced by an apologetic smile and eyes swallowed by concern.

“Are you feeling okay, Rose?”

“Yeah. I’m being a drama queen, it’s just a cough and a cold.”

“We could go shopping another time…”

“No” She said, tone firm and mind made up. “Let’s go now. Besides, I’ve been saving up for a new outfit, so why don’t we kill two birds with one stone? I just need to drop off these files and then we can catch the bus.”

An hour later, they were headed into the city centre. December was coming to a close, and with its imminent passing, had brought the first bout of snow in many years. The cityscape was coated in it, the shapes of skyscrapers jutting out from the white blanket like mismatching teeth. The pearl-toned surface of the half-frozen Thames glinted in the soft glow of the winter sun as they wandered down the riverside towards their destination. They had decided not to take the bus. Instead, as they had done a few weeks ago, they drank in the bustling city around them and relished in each other’s company. Being out in the cold probably was not the best idea, but she had practically forgotten her oncoming illness when John had suggested another walk.

Rose’s breath blossomed in the air before her lips. She sniffed. The cold bit at her already crimson cheeks and she could feel it gradually sink into her bones. John, on the other hand, appeared entirely unbothered by it, skin pale and untouched as always. Gazing at the crisp white scenery around them, he seemed overwhelmed at the beauty of it. He watched as waves upon waves of snowflakes floated gently through the air until they landed on the pavement, merging with the murky brown dirt at the edges of the road. Settling on the tips of his mahogany brown hair, they caught the light like tiny drops of morning frost.

London was a city of extremes. Traipsing through the high-rising buildings of the Strand and the picturesque streets of Covent Garden, shoppers and professionals mingled with the lowly and the lost. They lingered on doorsteps, loitered in the spaces between buildings, sat alone on benches. It pulled at Rose’s heart strings to see them huddled under thin sleeping bags as their only protection against the cold, and so she grabbed John’s hand, pulling him into a nearby coffee shop. She ordered ten lattes, which raised a few eyebrows including John’s, but determined, she marched out of the café and straight into the heart of the former vegetable market that stood at the centre of Covent Garden. As soon as she spotted someone sleeping rough, she walked over, exchanging a few kind words and a paper cup full of hot coffee before wishing them well in such arctic weather. It took only five minutes before all the coffees had gone, but she left the district knowing that she had made a little bit of a difference. As she took John’s hand in hers, he smiled down at her, eyes round with pride.

Finally, they turned left off Marlborough Street, arriving at where they had been headed, Carnaby Street. It was Rose’s idea, since John had very little knowledge about where to go shopping. Actually, he had very little knowledge about anything daily life demanded; tubes times, ordering in restaurants, using a credit card. Clothes shopping clearly was another entry to that list.

The entrance sign to the alley arched over the road from terrace houses of varying colours, some painted garishly bright blues or yellows whilst others were more subdued, exposed brick paired with windows outlined with white. Shops and boutiques lined the bottom floors of every house as far as Rose could see. Above them, at every window hung rows upon rows of colourful flower baskets, well-looked after and alive despite the frost. An array of flashing Christmas lights twisted and coiled around shop signs and windowsills. They glowed lightly, waiting until night to be able to shine in all their glory.

They walked a while until Rose caught sight of an independent shop that had been recommend to her by a fellow student on her course. Eyeing the mannequins in the window- she was always a little wary of them since that day six years ago- she pushed open the heavy door, holding it open for John, who followed behind.

The boutique smelt of warm cinnamon and spicy rum flavoured with vanilla. Dim lights bathed the room in a comforting mixture of yellow bergamot and persimmon. A woman who was, much to Rose’s jealousy, dressed elegantly in a simple white shirt and layers of silver jewellery around her neck greeted them from behind a counter made from stacks of repurposed wooden crates. Even though she had only been in there for a few moments, Rose had already spotted dozens of clothes that should could only dream of having. John stepped forward a little apprehensively as if the clothing store was an alien world to him.

“Hello there! Can I help you with anything?” The woman called out, walking over to them.

Rose shook her head politely. “No thanks. We were just looking for men’s formal wear.”

“Just up the staircase and to your left.” The woman smiled, pointing at the steps hidden behind a display of beautiful floor-length dresses. “Feel free to find me if you have any queries.”

Upstairs, the men’s section stretched across the entire floor. Rose instantly dashed towards a nearby rack of clean-cut smart black suits, then turned back to John, who was still standing at the top of the stairs. His hand gripped the iron railing tightly.

“What do you think?” Rose said excitably, holding up a modern black tuxedo with a crisp white shirt.

“Um…” John reached a hand up to rub the back of his head, smiling sheepishly. “…it’s…perfect.”

But he did not have Rose fooled. She knew something was up. After getting to know him, Rose had come to realise that John was a bit of a fidgeter whenever he was lying. It was one thing to keep his face neutral, but Rose liked to think she was quite good at reading people, and could always tell that when he began to shift from foot to foot, tapping his fingers against his leg, he was not being completely truthful.

Rose sighed. “You don’t like it, do you?”

When he tried to protest, Rose waved at him to stop. “No, you're right. I don’t think it would suit you anyway. Far too…normal.”

At this, John flashed her a cheeky smile. Rose walked over to him. “Why don’t you have a look around whilst I go downstairs to look for a dress? Call me up if you want to show me something.”

Making her way down the stairs, she made eye contact with the woman behind the counter, who gave her a knowing smile. “A bit of a stubborn one, is he?”

Rose laughed, flicking her hair behind her shoulder. “How could you tell? He’s very particular about what he wears.”

“Still, you two suit each other, if you don’t mind me saying.” The woman said as she rearranged the bottles of perfume and trinkets in front of the till. “You are a couple, right?”

Rose, a little taken aback, stayed silent for a few moments, using the stolen time to try to think of something to say. And yet, she could not, so settled with: “Well, it’s complicated…”

The woman, seemingly understanding that it was a sore topic for Rose, took the cue and returned to her work. Hoping that John had not heard their short conversation, Rose began to browse through the endless rows of dresses. Some were extravagant, with lace detailing and glitter that would put an average wedding dress to shame. Ruffles and taffeta abound, Rose scanned the colours of baby pink, light blue, dark maroon, until her eyes caught sight of a slither of wine-red material sticking out from mountains of pearl white and olive green. She was drawn to it immediately. Pulling it out, it was as if her heart was caught in her chest as she slowly revealed a gorgeous red dress.

As red as fields on heather on fire, it was simple yet stunning. It was made of silk, which felt soft as it brushed against Rose’s palm and she knew instantly that she wanted to try it on.

Rushing to the changing rooms, she could barely contain her excitement as she took off her plain jumper and jeans, before slipping into the dress as easily as stepping into a second skin. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she was pleased to see that the material hugged every curve, falling down from her shoulders and reflecting the light so that it resembled waves of crimson tumbling to the floor. Thin spaghetti straps lay delicately on her collarbones. She had never felt so beautiful before in her life. She barely recognised herself.

“Excuse me, miss. There is someone here for you.” A voice from beyond the curtain.

“Just give me a second.” She called out, fixing her hair a little before smiling at herself confidently. “I’m nearly ready.”

She pulled back the curtain, and it was in that moment that time ground to a halt and her breath stopped in her throat. Standing before her was John, staring back at her with his big, big eyes. Their usual moss-hazel hue suddenly seemed to come alive as the irises took on an electric-green quality, studying her with an intensity that made her heart pound like a hammer on an anvil. It seemed as if he was mid-speech, his mouth open slightly as if he was in shock.

“Rose…”

He was wearing something entirely new. Underneath a beautifully tailored black jacket was a high-coloured white shirt, the sleeves of which were just long enough that the edges peaked out of the ends of the jacket. He had kept the waistcoat, but this one was in matching black material with sleek buttons. The blazer was done up at the first button but left open so you could see a shard of the red silk that it was lined with. Red silk that by coincidence perfectly matched the dress she had chosen. It was still him, but somehow, he looked more human. Less like a mismatched mannequin in a charity shop window.

Simply put, he looked incredible.

“You look amazing” he said.

“As do you.”

Rose bought the dress without a second thought.

\---

The journey home on the tube was a peaceful one. With stacks of paper bags full of newly bought clothes on their laps, Rose and John sat side by side as the metal carriage rattled and groaned through the web of underground tunnels. Once they had arrived at the other side, Rose was prepared for them to say their goodbyes, but much to her surprise John insisted that he see her to her door, and so they dashed out of the station, managing to catch the seven o’clock bus to the estate.

A little out of breath, they made their way to a pair of seats near the back. She took the window seat, John sliding in next to her, just before the bus shuddered into life, the door creaking shut.

Night-time had descended with the rapidity that was so familiar in the winter months. As the bus trundled forward, the houses became less and less grand. The streets less and less crowded. The florescent lights of kebab shops and Chinese takeaways shone through the windows, doubling everyone inside and reflecting their faces on the shopfronts and the sky.

All the while, a conflict was playing out within Rose’s heart. The sensible, rational part of herself tried to drown out the overwhelming urge to lean closer to the man sat next to her. A feeling as strong as gravity that made her limbs act in ways that defied her. She looked down at her hand nestled in his palm and at his thumb, which was unconsciously rubbing back and forth over her own, and desired more than anything to reach over, look deep into his eyes and…

Rose stopped that thought before it could grow. It was as if her mind was scolding her for losing control of her emotions, and she slumped backwards in defeat. And yet, her heart retained a slither of defiance, and she let her head drop, resting it against John’s shoulder as she closed her eyes and smiled.

After ten minutes or so, the bus arrived at her stop. Stepping off, they thanked the driver before making their way towards the estate, climbing the winding concrete stairs that lead to her front door. They stopped just outside. Rose looked at John, face barely illuminated by the dim, flickering light overhead, and smiled gratefully.

“Thank you for coming all this way.” She said. “I hope it wasn’t too out of your way.”

“Oh, not at all.” He exclaimed, his voice loud against the gentle hum of the city.

“Thank you for today.” She said. “I feel so much better.”

“I’m glad.”

“You always know how to cheer me up. I don’t know why, but I’m always so happy when I’m around you.”

She had not meant to say the words out loud, but as they floated in the air between them, she found that she did not regret doing so. It was the truth, after all, and once the admission had left her lips, it was as if it was difficult to hold the others back.

“Even on the days when I’m most lost, there you are. Every time, going out of your way to make me feel better. You’ve been the first person in a while to be kind to me. Thank you.”

In the crisp winter air, standing on the silent balcony, Rose locked eyes with John. He stared back at her with the same seriousness as before, but unlike earlier in the shop, Rose was not taken aback or afraid. Instead, she recognised his gaze as her own, filled with want. Desire burned bright from behind irises as green as bottled glass.

“Rose Tyler…” He said, voice barely a whisper compared to his previous bravado. “You have no idea how much you help me too.”

He stepped forward. Towards her, with a sudden confidence that seemed so alien on him, until the distance between their eyes narrowed along with the space between their bodies. Rose felt like she was holding her breath underwater. She stood there with a lump in her throat, unable to stop her fluttering heart, eyes hazy as he leant down, bridging the gap between them as she reached upwards, gaze focused on the arch of his lips…

Until the moment never came. John drew back as quick as an arrow released from a quiver, inhaling sharply. It was as if whatever had possessed him before left his body right in front of Rose’s eyes. His face burned a dark shade of red, eyes not knowing where to look, and he stumbled backwards like a scared animal. He was almost speechless as he pointed to the stairs next to them, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

“I don’t- I better...” he stuttered, even the tips of his ears glowing pink. He did not even finish his sentence before he dashed to the staircase, leaving Rose shell-shocked in his wake.

In the heat of the moment, she wanted to chase after him. To grab him and tell him that he had nothing to be afraid of. That she wanted this. She wanted him.

But instead, she remained by the door, shopping bags abandoned on the floor. She watched him grow ever more distant before disappearing from her view entirely, and it occurred to her that the opportunity to make her feelings known might never arise again.


	6. The phone call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and John go to the Christmas Ball, but not everything goes to plan.

She had never thought that she would witness John dancing his heart out to Kesha, but there he was, arms high above him in the air and shaking his head in way that reminded her of her dad whenever they went to a wedding.

To her absolute delight, he also knew the words, singing them at the top of his lungs and sending a ripple of laughter around the dance floor as his colleagues stopped in their tracks to get a good look. He turned around and beckoned for her to join him. At first she shook her head, not wanting to embarrass herself, but that did not stop him. Bounding over like an overexcited jack russell, he grabbed her by the hand, dragging her protesting onto the dance floor.

The King’s College Christmas Ball had finally arrived, and it was unlike Rose had ever seen as a girl who had grown up on the gritty streets of London. It was being held at The Milestone Hotel, a luxury boutique hotel nestled in the heart of Kensington. Upon arriving at the venue, Rose had been overwhelmed by the beauty of the building’s Georgian façade. A little intimidated as well, if she was honest.

Otherwise known as Kensington House, the hotel inhabited a rather rich area of the district. Behind wrought-iron fences coated with glossed black paint, the front of the building stood tall, thrusting its gable onto the street. Rows of sash windows towered before her, the clear panes providing a glimpse of the luxury awaiting them. The roof was defined by wide overhangs and shallow pitches, and in among the ornate loft windows were outcrops of chimneys, out from which rose small puffs of delicate smoke.

Upon entering, she had been greeted by a vast lobby filled with plush velvet loveseats and leather armchairs. Porters in black waistcoats lined with gold dashed from one end of the room to the other, pushing polished silver luggage racks alongside them. An enormous chandelier hung in the centre, the glass beads of which reflected the light like dainty drops of water.

Guests reclined and enjoyed the soft melody of a grand piano as they waited to be shown to their room. Wrists weighed down by heavy jewellery set with diamonds and emeralds. Expensive-looking suits from the likes of Armani and Burberry. Lips painted with lashings of red lipstick parting to reveal perfect white teeth. But among them, Rose had seen faces she recognised, classmates waiting eagerly. For some, it was their first taste of how the other half lived.

A lucky few had been granted VIP tickets by the University that had given them access to a hotel suite for the night. Rose had really started to believe that fate was on her side when one day, one of said tickets had been posted through her door late at night, despite them having already been allocated. Jealous eyes had watched her as she collected her key, her bags being taken upstairs for her as she was taken to her room for the evening.

Her suite was most definitely fit for a queen. At catching sight of the huge four-poster bed complete with curtains draped from each corner, Rose had found it hard to contain herself from launching straight onto the velvety covers until the porter had left. Spotting a bottle of champagne and two empty glasses awaiting her by the floor to ceiling window, she had slumped into an antique armchair before reaching over to the oak coffee table to pour herself a glass. Now, she could get used to this.

Before long, it had been time to make her way down the grand staircase for the opening reception. The lobby was even more lively than before, packed with people mingling and eating small canapés in glittering dresses and smart tuxedos. As she had descended the steps, fingers tracing the mahogany banister and her dress spilling out behind her, she had scanned the crowd, looking for John amongst a sea of acquaintances. But she had not been able to spot him. In fact, she had spent the entire reception struggling to make conversation as she tried, without success, to find him. Admittedly, she had been a little nervous after the incident a few days ago. Since the shopping trip, neither of them had spoken of it. It was like it had become a taboo, always the elephant in the room whenever they spent time together. But alone and stuck in small talk with people she barely knew, Rose had been desperate for a knight in shining armour right about then.

Thankfully, just as the guests were being called over to the dining room for the three-course dinner, she had caught a glimpse of red silk on black and looked closer to see John leaning against a doorway to her right, hands in pockets and legs crossed as he shot her a suave smile from across the room. At the sight of him, already two glasses of fizz down, all nervousness had dissipated, and she decided that nothing was going to spoil her night.

Now, appetite satisfied and head slightly hazy with expensive wine, Rose joined John at the centre of the crowd dancing to a playlist of cheesy pop that was a jarring contrast to the exquisite hall in which, once upon a time, ladies and lords had intermingled and swayed to beautiful classical melodies.

Standing aside for a moment, she observed him in all his glory. “You are such a dad dancer!” she laughed, holding a hand over her mouth before she collapsed into hysterics.

“Am not!” He shouted over the pounding of the loud music, his limbs flailing as he spun around. “I’ll have you know that I’ve danced with some of the greats and none of them had anything bad to say about my moves.”

Rose rolled her eyes, hands on hips. “So, you’re not only a bad dancer, but also a pathological liar.”

“Oi!” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her back into the fray. “If you’re going to insult me, then you might as well show me how it’s done.”

As alcohol swirled in her stomach, her heart pumping dark wine through her veins, Rose’s inhibitions were draining away by the second. Her hands found their way to his hips and she drew him in close, ignoring the look of shock on his face as she began to move. He waved his arms about as if he did not know quite where to put them, and so she guided his hands to her waist before she reached up to his shoulders, looking deeply into his eyes.

“That’s how it’s done.” She smirked.

Rose was completely unaware of people looking at them curiously as they swayed back and forth. To her, their faces appeared blurred, unimportant compared to the person she was dancing with. The spotlight was on them, and it felt as if they had been transported somewhere else, alone together and in another time. Some part of her felt the soft pressure of John’s head as he rested it on her shoulder, but she was too absorbed for it to register as she clung onto him, happy in the moment.

She did not want it to end, but after a while, she could feel the warm sensation of drunkenness start to flow away, so she came back to her senses, the promise of another drink calling to her.

“Let’s go to the bar.” She said, pulling John away from the dance floor before he could protest.

The bar at the Milestone was quite unlike any Rose had visited in her life. As they descended the steps and passed through the doorway, they were greeted by a great glass conservatory lit by flickering candles and gas lights that dotted the tables. Looking up, mouth open in wonder, Rose could see constellations of stars scattered across the night sky that were usually hidden behind the smog in her neighbourhood. Tonight, they seemed to be shining just a little bit brighter.

The room before them was empty, everyone else preoccupied by the music. A light, gentle jazz melody played in the background as a single waiter polished glasses from behind an oak counter, etched into the wooden surface of which was a pattern of blossoming flowers and nesting birds. Plants contained in wicker baskets imported from the markets in Morocco and porcelain pots delicately painted in China filled the space, giving it the appearance of a luscious greenhouse hidden away in the estate of a wealthy nobleman. Rose proceeded towards the counter, pulling herself onto a bar stool covered with a clover-green cushion.

John slid onto the stool next to her as she leant over to grab a drinks menu. “Wow, this place really does have it all.”

“Including cocktails!” She said excitably as she flicked through the pages, pausing when she caught sight of her favourite. “Strawberry daquiri, please.”

She passed the menu to John. “What would you like? Drinks are on me.”

Unlike when she had given him the tea for free when they had first met, John had grown accustomed to accepting when she offered him something. “One marmalade sour, please.” He said to the waiter, nodding graciously as he took the menu away. “I love jam, and marmalade is similar, so it’s got to taste good, right?”

“Sure.” She chuckled. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink before John.”

“What do you mean?” He looked at her incredulously, and with an air of bravado as he puffed out his chest. “Of course I drink. If I recall, I used to love a glass of red wine on an evening, reading a book in the TA- “

He was suddenly cut short by the waiter placing two immaculately made cocktails between them. Sipping hers, Rose’s lips drew into a satisfied smile. “Hm, that’s delicious.”

She glanced at John, who was eyeing his with a hint of suspicion, arms crossed. “Go on, try it! They’re delicious.”

Snatching the martini glass away from the counter, John brought it level with his narrowed eyes as he scanned the amber liquid sloshing back and forth. He lowered it to his nose, sniffing it once, twice, before shrugging and taking a huge gulp. At first, his face seemed to confirm that the drink was indeed as appetizing as Rose had described, but as sudden as the trembling of the candle flame next to them, his expression twisted into something much more sour, and much to Rose’s surprise, he spat the drink right back out again into the glass. He shook his head, opening and closing his mouth in disgust.

“That… _that_ is meant to resemble marmalade?” he said, staring at what was left of the cocktail with shock. “Are you trying to poison me?”

Rose felt tears in her eyes as her shoulders shook with laughter. “Mr. ‘Of course I drink’. You are such a _liar_!”

“I could have sworn alcohol tasted different to _that_.”

Rose giggled, a soft small sound that escaped her lips before her mind, sluggish from the rum in her drink, could stop it. A hand flew to her mouth, and she looked at John in embarrassment to see him gazing back at her in amusement. She did not know when, but at some point, he had stopped looking at her like a friend he had lost long ago. Stopped the discrete double-takes every time she came into view, as if she was just a figment of his imagination. Now he looked at her as if she was really there.

“I’m not very good with words…” he suddenly said out of the blue, pausing a moment and looking upwards as if he were visualising what he was going to say in the space before him. “It seems like I am, I’ve got a bit of a gob and I’m a terrible show-off. But when it boils down to it, I can never quite find the right ones. There’s something I’ve been meaning to say, and I’ve been putting it off for a while now because the words have never occurred to me.”

Rose stayed silent, waiting. He bowed his head and laughed against his chest, a hesitant, stilted laugh.

“I think I’ve finally found them. And if I don’t say them now, then I don’t think I ever will.”

He raised his head. “Rose…”

And it was at that exact moment that John’s phone started to ring.

Whatever he was trying to say seemed to simply shatter before Rose’s eyes, the momentum disappearing like dust in the wind. It sounded out from his pocket like an alarm, and he sighed heavily before drawing it out of his jacket. Looking at the screen, Rose noticed his eyebrows rise and eyes widen slightly.

“I’ve got to take this.” He said grimacing. “I’m so sorry.”

“No worries.” Rose tried to laugh it off. “You go ahead. I’ll head back to hall, see you there?”

John nodded, before slipping off his seat and dashing out of the bar, leaving Rose confused and slightly disappointed once again. As soon as he left, she felt incredibly self-conscious, realising that she was now the only one in the room, apart from the bartender, who’s knowing look suggested that he had seen this all before. She quickly thanked him, payed for the drinks, then made her way back to the ball.

Within moments she realised that dancing without him was not the same. Even with the extra drink flowing through her veins, she found it difficult to enjoy herself as she wound her way through a crowd of faces which she recognised but could not attribute to names. She tried her hardest to make conversation with some of the classmates with whom she had shared a few words, but they were just so unlike her. They did not know her, understand her like John did. John.

It felt as if the room was shrinking in size, closing in on her. She needed to get away from the strangers who stared at her, knew her as the one who was messing about with that professor. She felt their gaze as if she was an actor who had forgotten her lines, being watched by an audience of a thousand eyes. She needed to find him.

She stumbled over to a waiter who was standing at the doorway with a tray of champagne glasses balanced precariously on his hand. “Hi I’m looking for someone. He came out from the bar for a phone call about ten minutes ago. He’s about so high, with brown hair, and wearing a black suit.”

Realising that she had just described about half the people in attendance, she racked her brain for something more distinctive to say. “Oh, and he’s got a fairly big chin?”

If the waiter had thought her childish or strange, he did not show it. Instead, as if by miracle, he nodded his head and pointed through the door next to him. “Actually, miss, I think I did see him. He came running through here not so long ago and seemed to be heading towards the kitchens. If he is taking a phone call, he may be out the back of the hotel. Let me show you.”

The waiter led her through the hotel and the kitchens, which drew a few strange looks from the staff busy clearing up after their delicious banquet. They came to a door which she assumed lead to the backyard, and he wished her good luck in finding her friend.

She could hear his voice before she even stepped outside. Pushing the door open as discretely as possible, she slipped into the outside space, making sure not to disturb him. She caught sight of him, standing a comb of bright white light with his hands on his hips as he talked rather loudly with whoever was on the other end of the phone.

“Yes, yes. I understand. But I am trying my best you know!”

Rose went to call out to him but hesitated for a second. His voice seemed different for some reason, a little older and a little more serious as if he were talking to one of his students. Exasperated even, but understanding nonetheless. Whatever it was, it seemed important, and so Rose sidled quickly forward, placing her feet down with practiced deftness, and lost herself behind a group of green recycling bins close enough that she could clearly make out what he was saying. She turned her nose up a bit at the rancid smell, lamenting the state of her new dress. But curiosity had taken over, and so she crouched down, her heels buried deep in a puddle of murky brown rainwater.

“I promise you, not much longer-“ he began, but suddenly jerked the phone away from his ear, wincing as a louder voice, albeit muffled, blared through the speaker.

He returned it to his ear. “I know it’s been months. But I’ve been stuck too. It’s like going on a holiday, but you have no money, no passport, no luggage. Okay, maybe it’s not like a holiday, ignore everything I just said.”

He sighed running a hand through his hair. “Clara…”

Clara?

Rose’s blood instantly turned to ice. Who was she? Why had he said her name so warmly?

Jealousy licked at the edges of her vision.

“Don’t worry. I’ll come back to you soon. It’s just the engines are down. How? I don’t quite understand how myself. But I think I have figured out a way to restart them. Once that happens, I’ll be out of here and everything will be back to normal.”

Rose turned away from the scene, heart sinking rapidly in her chest. What did he mean that everything would be normal again? Was he leaving? Suspicions amplified, all kinds of scenarios started to swirl in her head. Why had he been so secretive all this time? Was this what he was hiding?

She suddenly felt unsteady, and before she knew it, reason had left her. It always ended like this. She had gone and placed all her trust in another man, naively thinking that he was different, only to end up being left behind like last time. Looking down at her evening dress, she felt anger rise to the surface of her skin. Stupid. She was so stupid. Her posture slumped and she balled her hands into fists as she fought back the tears that burned hot at the edges of her eyes.

But lost to frustration, she failed to realise the stray bottle that lay by her feet, and as she collapsed to the ground, her heel connected with the glass with a loud ‘clink’.

The sound echoed through the courtyard, slicing through the silence like a knife. Rose froze, panic overtaking all emotions, and she peered around her hiding spot to see John standing, locked in place like her with the phone still to his ear.

“Sorry Clara…” he said. “I’ve got to go.”

Turning around, she ducked back behind the bins, breath caught in her throat. After a few moments trying to calm her beating heart, she heard the sound of a footstep. Then another. And another, coming ever closer towards her, soft like a hunter carefully stalking his prey. It occurred to her that a confrontation was inevitable, and so she gathered her tattered nerves and prayed to the sky for an ounce of courage before she climbed to her feet, revealing herself from her darkness of the shadows.

John stared at her, horrified. “Rose…”

She took one look at him, eyes glossy with unshed tears, before she turned and ran all the way to her room, closing and locking the door, all the while not looking back once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, it's mizuki again! I just wanted to say that it might take a few days for the next chapter to come out. I've been uploading one chapter a day so far, but I want to make sure that I get the next one as perfect as possible, so I will be taking a bit longer than normal to post it. Thank you for understanding! x


	7. The confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having run away from John, Rose has not seen him for days. What will she do when he returns, unwanted, to her life?

Rose sighed as she looked down at her coffee. Her own eyes stared back at her from the swirling surface, tired and drained.

“You alright there, Rose?” Aria called over from behind the counter as she polished glasses with a spotted tea towel. “You look like death.”

“Charming.” Rose called out, tearing her gaze away from the mug. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

The younger woman smiled playfully. “Just checking. Are you sure you don’t want another hour’s break? I’m sure I can look after the place whilst you’re gone.”

“That’s very kind of you, but no thanks. I better get back to work soon.”

She took a gulp of her lukewarm coffee. Over a week had passed since she had last saw him. Wide eyed and face full of fear. That was the image she had of him now, etched onto her brain so that no matter how hard she tried to not think about it, he remained stubbornly at the forefront of her mind. The words he had said still buzzed in her head, even now.

No point dwelling on it, she tried to convince herself for the umpteenth time.

Since first term had ended at University, she had found herself back at square one; managing the café to pass the time. She had been reluctant at first. In her mind, her venture into business was a little embarrassing compared to her life as a student at a prestigious institution. But the café had welcomed her back like an old friend, and she soon realised that she still could find happiness in brightening the day of the few customers that passed through its doors.

Christmas had come and gone. Like last year and the year before that, she had reluctantly agreed to spend it with her Mum and Dad at their house in Reading. But for the first time, she actually relished in the distraction the escape from the city brought her. Now that Jackie had been reunited with her husband, who also happened to be rather well-off, Christmas had been transformed. No longer was it a melancholy time when she and Rose had celebrated it alone with a sparse dinner and cheap tinsel. Instead, the already impressive house was decorated within an inch of its life. Silver practically dripped from every corner and crevice in the spacious living room as the light from the roaring log fire danced across endless baubles and wreathes. And the smell that filled the room, the mouth-watering scent of perfectly roasted turkey and potatoes roasted in goose fat. It had wafted in from the kitchen, along with the smell of cinnamon sugar and mulled wine.

As ever, she was to spend New Year’s Eve alone. Not that she had told her parents that. They were pleasantly surprised when, this year, she announced she would be going out with a few friends that she had met on her course. A lie, of course. But it did not harm to make her parents worry less and when they offered her money for the celebrations, she declined, exaggerating the profits from the café a little so that they could put their hearts at ease. They had gone through so much. They deserved to be happy.

Rose on the other hand was not happy. Time away from John had done something to ease the anger boiling in the pit of her stomach, but the betrayal was still there, as fresh as an open wound. And yet, amongst all the frustration was a hint of regret, which had begun to grow, although only slightly, day by day. Had she been too harsh on him? Part of her was adamant that he was planning to leave her, abandon her without a second thought. But another part begged her to allow him to explain.

Well, perhaps she did not know the entire story. But her heart was not willing to forgive so easily. She needed to forget him and move on.

But, no matter how hard she tried, she could not help but dwell on the strange things that had been occurring in her life since John had arrived, and how maybe they may have some connection to his mysterious conversation with that girl, Clara. Before she could stop herself, she started listing them in her mind. Her university application, and how her grades had magically changed overnight. The amazing night they had spent together on the London Eye that had hit her with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. The ticket for the Christmas Ball that had been posted through her letterbox at midnight. All those strange, wonderful, selfless things that seemed to be connected to him, but she did not know how.

The thought of John ignited in her an emotion that she should not be feeling, not now- a twanging of nervousness and an overwhelming excitement. Time ahead of her was opening up, unbounded like a river through London and then onwards away from Earth towards galaxies and stars burning and beyond; on to endless possibilities. All it took was for her to picture his smile, his old eyes, and one moment she was in London, but it was 1949 and bombs blazed around her. And then she was transported countless years into the future, stuck on a satellite station with no chance of escape. The apple-grass fields of New Earth, the wild moors of Victorian Scotland, an impossible planet hurtling towards a black hole. Every memory of her and the Doctor rose to the surface and for one fleeting moment, her brain started to piece together the clues and the slip-ups and the coincidences until…

…she shook her head. Maybe she needed another coffee.

She tried to stamp out any nice thought about him that was beginning to slip through. No, she would not allow herself to be lost to a rose-tinted memory of him when the hurt she felt was still so fresh. The Doctor was gone. John was gone. She needed to put her foot down and accept that she was alone again.

“One hot chocolate please, with three sugars.”

Damn that man.

She did not even raise her head. “Go away.”

“Not this time.” She heard the scraping of the chair legs across the wooden floor and the sound of a weight dropping onto it like a discarded stone.

Rose looked up to see John gazing at her from across the table. She had not even realised that he had sat down, and much to her annoyance, she suddenly became aware of a tingling sensation like butterflies circling in her stomach. He was studying her with narrowed eyes, as still as a stone statue on a church spire. Arms crossed over his chest defensively. Rose started to doubt whether the man she saw before her was real or that her mind was playing tricks on her.

Several moments passed in silence before either of them spoke. John leant forward as if he had decided he was finally brave enough to talk, and Rose let him. She had always been as stubborn as a mule, so refused to go first. Instead, she thought, she would like to she him squirm.

“How are you doing Rose?”

He said the words with a blank face, not betraying anything. Rose just stared at him in disbelief.

“After all you’ve done, that’s the only thing you can think of?”

“As I said before, I’m not very good when it comes to words.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “I very much doubt that. You managed to fool me all this time after all.”

It was at that moment that Aria decided to come over with John’s drink, placing it down in front of him as she glanced between the two of them. “Anything else I can get you sir?” she said, slightly on edge.

John went to answer, but Rose got there first. “No” she snapped back at the poor girl, but then softened her tone for her slightly. “We’re all good here, thanks.”

Rose watched as the waitress hurried back to the till before turning her attention back to John, who was now resting his arms on either side of the chair, legs crossed like a professor in his grand office. “So, why are you here?”

He paused for a second, as if trying to find the right thing to say, before settling on: “I was worried about you…”

Rose scoffed incredulously. “Worried about me? I think it’s a bit too late for that John.”

“Please, just let me explain.”

“Go on then. Explain why you were on the phone to another girl.” Rose said. “And why you promised said girl that you would be gone soon. I’ve got all day.”

“It’s not what you think…”

“Oh really?” Rose cut him short, feeling her temper rising again. “Please enlighten me then.”

John sat back in his chair and ran a hand over his eyes. He too looked tired, as if he had not slept for the past few days. “I’m really sorry, Rose. Truly, I did not mean-“

She was losing her patience. “I don’t want an apology. Just tell me what the hell is going on.”

“How much did you hear that night?” he said.

“Enough to know that you’ve been lying to me and that you’re not going to be around much longer.”

Much to Rose’s surprise, she suddenly noticed John’s features relax a little, as if he was relieved. “I’m not going anywhere Rose. I promise you.”

“What do you mean?”

“What you heard was just a conversation between me and my landlady.”

“Your landlady?” Rose did not sound convinced.

“Yes, yes. My landlady.” John said, and Rose could tell from his voice that he had regained some confidence. “I’m meant to be renting a house outside the city, but I’ve been rather caught up with business here that I haven’t been able to leave London yet.”

“Okay then, who’s Clara?”

“That’s her, my landlady.”

John had not drunk his hot chocolate, seemingly concentrating every ounce of attention on Rose.

“Right” Rose said. “So you want me to believe that you’ve been stuck in London, unable to start your rental agreement, and this is all a misunderstanding on my behalf?”

“Yes.” John said, but then his eyes widened and mouth dropped open in horror as he started to wave his hands. “No, I mean no. It’s my fault for not telling you all this. I thought I could sort it all myself.”

Rose narrowed her eyes. “What was all that about an engine, then?”

“That was…my car. It’s broken, so I left it in a storage locker for the time being.”

“And you haven’t thought about just taking the train to clear this all up with your landlady?”

“And leave it behind?” John looked at her in disbelief, as if it was the clearest thing in the world. “It’s one of my most prized possessions, and besides, it’s the closest thing to a home I’ve got at the moment. I just need the money to fix it and then-”

“Wait, you haven’t got a house? You’re a university lecturer and certified doctor, and you haven’t got a house? Where have you been staying?”

“At the locker.” John said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“At the locker?! Jesus John, why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“I didn’t want to drag you in to it.”

“But you didn’t even ask me about it. I mean, if I’m honest, I don’t fully understand what’s going on here, and why you’ve made life difficult for yourself like this, but I would have been willing to help you. It’s not on you to decide whether I get involved with something or not.”

Picking up a little pink packet of fake sugar, John fussed with it before answering. “You’re right. I should have told you.”

“Yeah, of course I’m right.”

Neither of them said a word. John pressed his lips together, pouring the sweetener into the porcelain teacup. Rose took a moment to piece together what he has told her in her head.

“So…” she said after a while. “…that means that you _are_ leaving London sometime soon?”

John looked at her finally.

“You said it yourself.” She said, her voice starting to break after bottling up her anger and her confusion. “You’ve got some business to deal with and then you’ll be gone.”

She pressed her fingertips, hard, against the skin of her temple as if it would force the tears at the edge of her vision to stay inside. “That part is at least true.”

“Yes.” He said, not trying to find an excuse.

Rose shook her head, upset visible on her face. “No, you can’t. That’s not fair. You can’t leave this soon. Not when I’ve just found you.”

“Rose-“

“Can’t you just stay? I can help you find a place here, in the city! You can take up your job full time…”

“Rose-“

“Hell, you can even stay with me, if that helps. Just please, don’t go.”

“Rose!” John said firmly, cutting her off with his voice raised. “What makes you think that I’ll leave you now?”

She could not hold the tears back now, and they trailed hot down her flushed cheeks. John leant over the table, grabbing both her hands in his as he looked directly into her eyes.

“Rose Tyler. Do you think so little of me that I’d run off and abandon you? I’m not leaving now, and I’m not leaving any time soon. I’m staying here, logic be damned.”

“What…” Rose managed to stutter.

“I rang my landlady back after you left.” John continued, his eyes desperately searching hers, begging her to understand. “I told her to cancel the tenancy. I told her that I had found a job and a new place in London and no longer needed the house. Rose, I’m staying, with you.”

“John, is that true?” Rose whimpered, wanting to believe it. She felt her barriers finally breaking down piece by piece and her heart yearned for him. Wanted him more than anything else, when deep down, she still knew that somehow, he was lying.

“Rose Tyler.” John said, and for the first time, Rose saw tears spill from his eyes. “Just this once, please, just believe me.”

And with that, he bridged the gap between them and time stopped, leaving just him and her as he leant over the table, placing his lips delicately on hers.


	8. The lodger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and John spend some well-deserved time together, but something begins to trigger Rose's memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this chapter took so long to come out! I've had a stressful few days and had no spare time to sit down and write! Nevertheless, please enjoy the (slightly belated) chapter :)

The smell of something delicious wafted into the living room from the Kitchen. Savoury and comforting, Rose breathed it in as her stomach rumbled in satisfaction. Whatever it was he was cooking, she was looking forward to it.

The lights in the room were turned down low. Instead, candles were dotted around the space, shadows dancing across the walls as the feather-like flames flickered back and forth. Reclining on the sofa, wine glass in hand, Rose flicked through a magazine as she awaited her dinner. The full-bodied smoky tones of the red wine fluttered across her taste-buds and brought a gentle heat to her cheeks. It was more expensive than her usual pinot noir, but she had wanted to treat herself. Tonight was a night to celebrate, after all.

Rose’s apartment was small but cosy. The best she could get without help from her parents, who had begged her to stay with them after they had moved to the parallel world. It had been a tempting offer. Their house was a beautiful Victorian semi-detached, four stories tall and spacious enough to fit the three of them quite comfortably. But after the events at Bad Wolf Bay, Rose had wanted to get away. To grasp onto any semblance of her time with the Doctor in her reluctance to say goodbye. She refused to accept that it had all ended, her adventures in time and space, and so she had packed her bags and left. She followed her heart, bursting with the memories of her previous life, and it had led her back home. Back to the estate where she had first met him. Where their story had first begun.

As the seasons had passed by and her connection to those memories grew weaker with every year, she still remained there, something invisible anchoring her to the place, willing her not to leave. It was as if fate was telling her that if she stayed, she might see him again.

Sipping her wine, Rose smiled to herself. Now she knew she had been wrong all along. Fate had something much different planned for her.

The living room was Rose’s favourite room in the flat. Architecturally wise, it was nothing ground-breaking, with its boxy square shape and disappointingly tiny windows. But it was _hers_. A space to call her own, and she was proud with what she had done with it.

Mismatched furniture gathered from hours of voyages to local charity shops gave the room an air of excitement and unpredictability, like an eye-catching stall at an antique flea market. Squeezed in the corner between the soft red sofa and the fireplace stood an imposing Georgian bookcase that she had proudly salvaged from a junk sale and given life with a lick of fresh white paint. Its glass doors opened up to her collection of travel books and diaries, a homage to her desire to visit even the most secluded wonders of the Earth. Scattered across the room were pieces from around the world that she had found at car-boot sales and in antique shops, each dedicated to a place she had grown up dreaming about seeing. Her favourite, a chipped snow globe from Peru, took pride of place on her mantlepiece.

She finished her wine before standing up, making her way into the kitchen. John was standing in front of the hob, saucepan in his right hand and spatula in his left. Over his usual shirt and bow-tie he wore one of Rose’s jumpers, a massive knitted thing that she had bought at a vintage sale. Around his waist he had tied her sky-blue apron.

“What _is_ that?” she said, placing her empty glass by the sink. “It smells _amazing_.”

“Good, it’s one of my specialities after all.” John said as he reached for the pepper.

Rose looked over his shoulder at the freshly broken eggs in the pan and scrunched her nose. “An omelette?”

“Oi!” John looked at her, eyebrows furrowed in mock offence. “Don’t insult the omelette. I’ll have you know that I learnt how to make this particular recipe in France. The last time I made it was for an old friend and it went down a treat, so just be patient.”

“Okay…” Rose said a little sceptically. When she had given him free reign in the kitchen, she had not imagined that he would come up with something so simple. Then again, what she had imagined was her kitchen ablaze with fire, so really, she should have been counting her blessings.

But then, as if to prove her wrong, Rose watched as John dashed from one end of the kitchen to another, grabbing ingredients from the shelves and throwing them into the frying pan with the air of a mad scientist concocting a potion. A sprinkle of salt, a handful of diced mushrooms and lashings of grated cheddar cheese; whatever she had lurking at the back of her fridge, he chopped up and sliced before adding to his creation.

Rose looked around her kitchen in despair. In the aftermath of his burst of creativity, the usually clean countertops appeared as if they had been hit by a tornado. The kitchen was perhaps the only other room in the house that Rose had actually put effort in to update. When she had first moved in, it had been a gloomy, dingy space made oppressively dark by the outdated wooden counters and floorboards. So, she had gutted it like a fish until only the skeleton of a room remained, then had taken a much overdue trip to IKEA. A coating of light blue paint on the walls and the cheapest white vinyl and pine countertops had resulted in a room that emulated the Scandinavian suites she admired in her magazines, but on a budget. Rose tried not to stress out as she spotted the open cupboard doors and food stains on the floor.

Finally coming to a stop, John settled by the hob as he stirred the omelette. Rose pushed herself up off the side of the sink, walking over to him before wrapping her arms around his waist. For a moment, it seemed as if he would remain tense, but then his body eased up as he allowed her to rest against his back. But that did not stop Rose from seeing the blush spread across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks.

“Hey…” he said, trying to protest but in vain. “…I’m trying to cook here. You’re putting my meal at risk by distracting me!”

“Shut up and cook then.” Rose said into his shoulder. She was, as ever, confused by him. It was as if he were two different people; one second it was as if he had very little experience of human interaction, bashful and awkward. But then he would change; becoming intimate, loving and alluring so quickly that Rose’s head would spin.

“And…they’re ready!” John finally said. Rose released him from her grasp and he spun around, beaming. “Omelette au fromage, délicieux!”.

“You never told me you spoke French?”

“I speak a lot more than just French.”

Having seen the state of the kitchen, Rose suggested that they eat in the living room. Serving it up on two white porcelain plates, they each grabbed a knife and a fork, Rose refilling her glass, before heading in, dropping down onto the sofa. Rose curled herself up into the corner, fluffing the cushions up first to make it extra comfortable.

She had always felt a bit self-conscious when it came to eating in front of people, especially on dates, but today the smell of the eggs and ham was just too enticing. Her first forkful was huge, and as she stuffed it into her mouth, her eyes lit up and she looked at John in amazement with cheeks round and full.

“My God.” She said. “This is incredible. Where did you learn to cook like _this_?”

“As I said.” John glanced at her triumphantly, not yet having touched his portion. “France. Although I can never quite remember when.”

“I’ve never had an omelette before that tasted this good! What’s the recipe?"

John tapped the side of his nose and winked at her. “Spoilers.”

They continued to talk as they ate. Tealights flickered through coloured glass as they chatted, pausing at one point for Rose to find another bottle of wine, slowly easing the cork from the bottle top with a long, satisfying pop. She polished off the omelette quickly, mourning slightly as she swallowed the last mouthful. It was simply delicious. Her preference had always been for fodder that was quick, cheap and without fuss. After all, working all day surrounded by cakes and biscuits did not do wonders for one’s appetite. It had months, no, _years_ since she had sat down to enjoy a meal in this way, and as she gazed at John, swirling the red liquid in her glass, she realised that she could get used to this.

“Thank you so much for letting me stay here.” John said as he leant over, placing his empty plate on the coffee table in front of them. “I hate to be an inconvenience.”

“Cook for me every night and I’ll consider taking you on full time.” Rose smirked from the other end of the sofa. She pulled at the sleeves of her white knitted jumper. “Besides, I couldn’t just leave you in that locker when it’s this cold. Oh, that reminds me, how come you didn’t bring much with you when you came to stay? Is it all still in the storage unit?”  
  
“Something like that. I have an arrangement.”

“Well, you can move it all here if you want. I’m sure I could find space if I moved things around under my bed and-“

“Let’s talk about that another time, no need to worry about that now.” John cut in as he crossed one leg over the other. He smiled at her warmly. “I couldn’t help but notice all the souvenirs about the place. Are they from countries you’ve visited?”

Rose laughed a little sheepishly. “No, actually. It sounds a bit stupid, I know, but I collect things to remind myself of the places I want to visit one day, maybe when I’m older and retired. Hopefully I’ll have enough money then to travel. But for now, postcards are the closest I’ll get to the real thing.”

“That’s not stupid, not one bit.” John gazed around the room, stopping to point at her favourite snow globe, the glass sphere reflecting the light of the candle beside it. “What about that one?”

“That’s from Peru. I found it in a charity shop a few minutes down the road, so it’s really far from home.”

John looked at her quizzically. “Why Peru?”

“I’ve always wanted to go there since we learnt about South America in primary school. One of my favourite parts of history as a kid was the Incas. I even had a poster of Machu Pichu on my wall. Not to mention llamas, I used to beg my mum to buy one as a pet!”

John laughed. “Of all places you would want to visit, I would have never guessed Peru! How come you never visited when you went travelling before?”

Rose frowned. “Good point! I guess we were always too busy running around that he never thought to take me.”

“Well, you never said…” he muttered under his breath. Rose looked at him, confused. He just shook his head. “Nothing!”

Rose placed her glass down carefully, then shuffled forward towards him. “What about you John? You’re always talking about how you went travelling when you were younger, surely you must have a story or two to tell.”

Sure enough, John took the bait and she watched as he leant back, sighing nostalgically like when one asks an old relative about their childhood. “I’ve been all over, me. What do you want to know about?”

Rose flashed him a smile. “Something amazing.”

“Well…” John cracked his knuckles and rolled up his sleeves as if he were about to lift something heavy. Rose recognised it as the restless excitement that always overcame him when he started to talk about his travels. “…There was that time that I found myself lost in the Lascaux caves of Montignac.”

“Oh!” Rose said, eyes widening in recognition. “I’ve heard of those before. The caves in France full of paintings from, oh, when was it?”

“The Paleolithic period, yes.” John looked at her, impressed. “It’s a complex of caves filled with images said to have been painted over 15,000 years ago. It’s a tourist attraction now, but when I went, I was still one of the undiscovered wonders of the world.”

“What was it like?” Rose asked, hungry to know more.

“Oh, Rose. It was beautiful. The caves there, they reach to heights of sixteen feet. They tower above you, like halls carved from the very bowls of the mountains they reside in. And on every wall are thousands upon thousands of paintings. Picture it, cattle and deer roaming freely among outcrops of bedrock that fall from the ceiling like drops of liquid limestone. And the colours, red as deep as blood, yellow as bright as sunlight and a black so dark that it resembles even the most moonless of nights.”

“And on those walls, amongst the paintings, are markings as old as language itself. These signs still remain undeciphered, but they call out to you, whisper down the empty stone corridors, something more than words. Something not quite human.”

Rose sat back, digesting his words. “Incredible.”

“It was quite possibly the most magnificent thing I’ve seen on Earth.”

She observed him. There was something in the way that he described it that struck her as familiar. “The way you described those caves, it was almost like you were there when they were first painted all those years ago.”

“Now that would be impossible.”

Feeling that her appetite was not yet satisfied, Rose tried to prompt another story with a playful smile and a suggestive comment. “So, it seems like your overwhelming love for everything French meant that you’ve never actually been anywhere else…”

“Excuse me?” John said, looking a tad insulted. So, Rose was right; he did have a competitive streak. “You think I would be so boring as to restrict myself to one country? Rose Tyler, prepare yourself, as I’m about to prove you extremely wrong.”

Rose laughed to herself. It worked every time. Every man had an ego, even John. It was just a matter of finding his weak spot, and then she had him wrapped around her little finger.

“Go on then.” She smirked flirtatiously. “Prove me wrong.”

“The ancient city of Hatra.” John exclaimed.

“Now, that just sounds like something from a knock-off fantasy novel.”

“Actually, it’s real. The cultural and economic capital of Araba in the great Parthian empire. It’s in ruins now, burnt to the ground nearly two thousand years ago. All that’s left is a shell of its former glory.”

“Sounds _remarkable_ ” Rose said sarcastically.

“Oh, but it is. Hatra is a fortress like no other. It is encircled by impenetrable walls, defended by over _160 towers_. Even the Romans couldn’t topple it. Not to mention, it’s the cultural centre of the _entire region_ , drawing in artists, musicians and architects with influences ranging from the Hellenistic to the European. The centre of a _brilliant_ civilisation. Its other name is the House of God. Funny really, considering that numerous deities are worshipped there. You name it, Hermes, Atargatis, Shamash, they are all there, knocking about. They caused a hell of a lot of trouble over the years. I suppose that’s what happens when you dedicate your city to hundreds of competing gods.”

“There you go again, talking about it as if it is still populated, alive.”

John looked at Rose, eyebrows furrowed. “Of course it isn’t, that would be silly. “

Rose laughed, but she could not deny that inside she was a little puzzled. All these stories, they reminded her so much of the days she had spent in the past. Cardiff at the heart of a Victorian winter, London ablaze during World War Two; she knew that she truly understood these times and these places better than any book or documentary. Could describe them in ways that normal people could not grasp because they had not been there. At the centre of it all, in the flesh. And no matter how she looked at it, the way John described them was the same. As if he had witnessed it all with his own two eyes. Rose tried to shake off the feeling, but it remained, a weight in her gut growing by the second and telling her that something was not quite right.

“And all that time you were by yourself?” She found herself asking. Anything to supress the beginnings of wild theories flying around inside her head.

“For parts of it, yes.” He said. “But for others I have had those who have travelled with me. Companions, in a sense I guess. Just before I came to London and met you, I was actually travelling with a married couple. The Ponds! They were fantastic. We went to so many places; the Sumatra rainforest, Sterkfontein, the Wudang mountains…”

“Where are they now?”

John stopped rather suddenly mid-sentence, his face dropping for a fraction of a second but enough for Rose to catch a glimpse of sadness in his eyes. “They’re gone. Together still, but gone. I don’t think I’ll ever see them again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

Sensing the need to change the subject, and rather quickly, Rose turned towards him again. “So…what does it feel like to be constantly on the move? Travelling from one place to another? Because it sure sounds like it would be a lot of hassle, and very lonely. I’m not sure I could handle a life on the road like that.”

“I guess that, up until now, it’s the only life I’ve ever known.”

“But, it must be more than that.” She said. “Just a lifestyle...or a choice. Surely there’s something in you that is attracted to that life. Like an instinct?”

John paused for a moment, a distant look on his face as if he were waiting for the right words to come to him.

“It’s like an instinct, yes, but even deeper.” He suddenly said. “Sometimes I feel so lightly connected to the planet that it’s like I could float away at any second and the only thing keeping me tethered to the surface are threads as fine as spider silk, or…lines of spun sugar.”

“Imagine it Rose, all it would take is a small nudge and then I’d be gone, drifting up through the atmosphere and into the universe. That’s what I feel like, constantly and unchanging. Like I’m looking down at the world below as it revolves around the sun and its so _small,_ a tiny part of something so much vaster and more ancient that any one of us can ever imagine. And I feel that need to see it like a never-ending itch under my skin.”

She remained silent, listening to the words spill from his lips like a confession and looking at him like she finally saw him for who he was. She had heard those words before, but from a man with a battered leather jacket, war-torn eyes and a different face. But they were the same. And Rose knew exactly what those words meant for her. 

Silence persisted between them for a few long moments. Finally, as if he could sense that something was wrong, John’s expression slowly morphed into one defined by worry and he tilted his head, watching her.

“Rose? What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” She said, but deep down she knew it wasn’t.

It did not look like John was convinced either. “No really, what is it?”

She sighed, conceding. “It’s just that…all these things you’re saying, all the places you’ve been. They’re telling me that in keeping you here, I’m being selfish. That one day, you won’t be able to take this normal life and I’ll wake up to find you gone. Away on another adventure, having left me behind to pick up the pieces. Again.”

“Rose, I don’t quite understand-“ John started, but she cut him off.

“I’ve seen this before. I think I finally understand. And I’m worried that-“

But at that very moment, Rose stopped dead in her tracks, the unspoken words disappearing in the air between them as a something from within John’s jacket, lying on the armchair opposite them, sounded out like the tolling of a church bell. The noise hit her like a slap on the face, a punch in the gut, a burning.

John’s face dropped, eyes widening in recognition and dread, and he launched himself from the sofa, grabbing his jacket and reaching inside his pocket. Within seconds, the sound had stopped, but it remained fresh in Rose’s mind, haunting the scene like a lingering ghost.

“I-“ John started to speak, but the words seemingly caught in his throat, and before he could finish, he was already at the door, throwing it wide open before dashing out of Rose’s line of sight. She remained frozen in shock, mind racing as the noise played over and over again in her head like a broken record. That noise. That impossible noise. She had heard it before and never thought she would hear it again.

As she stared at the empty space in front of her where John had been standing only moments ago and tried to understand how she could have heard the sonic after all these years, one single word left her lips. It sounded so right, leaving understanding to roll over her like a wave in its wake.

“Doctor…”


	9. The parting of the ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose must confront John about what she suspects, but something is stopping her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning- graphic description of injury in this chapter.

Rose could hear his voice, loud and zealous from behind the closed door. He was talking about the early onset signs of sarcoma cancers, firing off questions to students who struggled to answer. _No, Angiosarcoma occurs in the walls of blood vessels, and so can be identified by an un-healing bruise. Just because its rare doesn’t mean that you can skip over it in your textbook._

He sounded more cutting than usual. A tinge of something ice-cold in his voice that she was not used to hearing. The determination that had been driving her until that point suddenly dwindled as she started to second guess why she had come. It had been days since he had fled from her apartment. Days in which Rose had no other company than her thoughts, racing around inside her head. She had been unable to sleep, kept up at night by them as they battered against the lining of her skull, until the fatigue and restlessness had become too much to bear and she had decided enough was enough. She was going to get answers. Definitive proof that even John could not deny. Anything to show that she was not going insane.

Well, that had been the plan. But now, as she stood with her ear pressed against the door, she was not so confident that she could face him again. From within the lecture room she could hear the ruffle of paper and scrapping of chairs, and her heart dropped. The lesson must be over, and _that_ meant that within seconds there would be a class of students wondering what she was doing listening in on them from outside in the corridor. Not to mention a familiar face that she was not quite ready to see yet. Her eyes darted about as she looked frantically for a place to hide, locking on to a nearby display case that she could fit behind quite nicely. She dashed over without a moment to spare as the door swung open and students poured out like water from a floodgate.

There he was. As the last of his students trickled out into the corridor, he stumbled into view, lab-coat crumpled and hair disheveled. He looked tired. His skin was ghostly pale, as if he had just lost a pint of blood, making the dark purple bags under his eyes stand out even more. He watched as the last student turned the corner then, thinking himself to be alone, slumped against the wall. A hand shot out, braced against it to support himself. His hair hung down into his eyes and in that moment, he looked so vulnerable.

Rose had to catch herself before she could run over to him. Part of her so desperately wanted to comfort him. To give in, throw logic to the wind and tell him that no matter what had happened or how he had lied to her, she would be there for him. But that was not the way forward. She needed know how he was here, why and most importantly, if he was going to stay. And to do that, if she was going to get him to admit anything, she needed to remain cool, calm and collected.

If he was who she truly thought he was, it was going to be hard.

She knew how much he hated endings.

After a while, he stirred, standing up straight and pulling on his bow tie. Rose watched as he returned to the classroom for a moment. He came back into the hallway, this time wearing his usual long coat, and started to walk slowly down the corridor. Before he could leave her line of sight, she shuffled forward, following him a few feet behind. He took the stairs, and Rose ducked behind a sizeable potted plant before he could see her. Her mind was screaming at her to stop. This was ridiculous. She had come to have an adult conversation and she was now squatting behind a plastic palm tree trailing him like she was some sort of spy. But there was something in her heart that was stopping her from making herself known. So, she continued; shadowing his every move as he made his way out of King’s Hospital and onto the streets of London.

Passing by countless street corners, Rose made sure to stick to crowds, turning around suddenly to hide her face whenever he crossed the road or glanced around. He seemed to have no discernible idea of where he was going. In fact, every time he arrived at a point at which two roads converged, he seemed to stop for a moment, looking both ways before choosing an entirely random direction in which to walk. The further they got from the hospital the more confused Rose became. She knew that his lessons were not over for the day as she was due to be in one in less than half an hour. So, where on earth could he be going?

Dashing across the road, John headed towards the same stretch of river where they had spent numerous nights together. That all felt so long ago. Rose followed him, running across the road but not checking to look. To her right, a red Volkswagen swerved around the corner and Rose barely had time to jump out of its way. It blared its horn as it rushed past her, narrowly missing her and clipping her arm. Heart pounding in her chest, Rose scrambled to get to the other side. She looked around frantically for her target, finally spotting him further down the street ahead of her. Thankfully, he did not seem to have noticed the commotion she had caused. Rose steadied her breath before continuing.

Finally, John turned off down an alley and Rose slipped after, believing herself to be unheard, unseen and unnoticed. But as soon as she rounded the corner, she ground to a halt. Instead of the open road she had expected, she was greeted by a brick wall. She gazed at the space in front of her in astonishment. The only thing there with her amongst the dirty puddles and empty crisp packets was a pile of shrivelled black bin bags piled high in one corner. No John. Rose pulled back sharply, confused and uneasy. How could she have lost him?

She spun around and her heart nearly collapsed with shock. John was standing behind her at the entrance to the alleyway, the tails of his maroon brown coat billowing in the cold January air. It suddenly became very quiet, as if they were trapped in a bubble separate from the pedestrians walking by only a few yards away. The expression on his face was severe. It scared Rose a little to see him look at her in that way, but she managed to salvage her nerves and put on a slightly hesitant smile.

“Oh, John! There you are! I was wondering where- “

“Why were you following me Rose?” John asked, cutting her off. If he was angry or upset, he did not show it. Rather, his face remained the same, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed in a way that made him appear more sombre than she was used to.

Rose sighed. A silly excuse was not going to cut it this time. There was no point lying.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I think you know what about.”

John stayed silent, observing her, so she continued. “Sorry for acting so stupid. I just didn’t quite know how to approach you and so I hid. And then I started trailing you and it all kinda got out of hand...”

She threw her hands up in the air out of exasperation. “Look, I’m sorry for following you. But we _need_ to talk. After that night…”

“That night was a mistake.” John interrupted again. “I shouldn’t have been there.”

Rose shook her head. She could feel the beginnings of frustration start to build in her chest. “What do you mean you shouldn’t have been there?”

For the first time, Rose saw a glimmer of emotion. John glanced at the ground, eyes betraying a trace of guilt, before clearing his throat. “If you know what I think you know, then you should understand that I shouldn’t be here. It’s not only impossible, but it’s _wrong_.”

“Wrong?!” Rose said incredulously. “Tell me, what’s so wrong about us?”

“That’s not what I meant…” John stared at her, and Rose detected a hint of anger in his voice.

“Then tell me what you mean.”

“Rose, just forget me. Just turn around, walk away and forget everything that happened between us.”

“No, _John_.” The name sounded wrong now. “That’s not good enough. I’m sick and tired of the all the lies and talking in riddles. You come into my life, make yourself comfortable, then decide to mess me around like this. For once, I want you to actually tell me what is going on. I want you to come out and say it; right here, right now.”

“I can’t”

“Yes, you can.” Rose raised her voice. “And you will. Or by God, I swear I will never forgive you.”

In the silence that followed, only Rose’s voice could be heard as it echoed through the empty alleyway, ricocheting off the brick walls like a promise. She had not meant to speak to him like that. Like a commander chastises an insubordinate soldier. But she could not take this any longer. When she had first met him, it was like seeing a light at the end of a dark tunnel. He was handsome, funny and above all, kind. And that had made her blind. Made her ignore all the red flags in a desperate attempt to convince herself that he could become a part of her life. She loved him.

But even love could hurt. She knew all too well.

“Rose, I’m leaving.”

The words hit her like a car, forcing the air out of her lungs. John’s face was set hard, the muscles in his jaw flexed. She looked at him, the anger draining away.

“You’re lying.” She whispered. This time, her voice was breathless, panicked. John shook his head, unable to meet her gaze.

“It’s the truth.”

“But you can’t…” she said, a hurt, almost pleading tone in her voice. She started towards him, but after her second step, John’s hand shot up, warning her away.

“Stop. Just…stop. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“How could you just leave?” Rose asked. She stood there. Shoulders slumped, arms at her sides as though she did not know what to do with herself. “How could you leave me behind like that without even saying goodbye?”

John did not look at her. Rose felt tears welling in her eyes.

“What about your students? You’ve got lessons to teach, you can’t just disappear like that.”

“I’ve handed my resignation in.” John said. “Today was my last class.”

So, that was why he looked so defeated. Dropping her head, Rose brought a hand to her forehead, which was creased with distress. She was shaking badly, desperation spiraling out of control. But she still did not want him to she her cry.

“What about your stuff at my house? And your car?” She knew she was grasping at straws. She knew it was all a story. The normal colleague, the reliable friend, the _human_ man was a fabrication. But she wanted it so desperately to be true.

She took a few deep breaths before lifting her head. John had barely moved, hands dead weight by his sides. Their desire for contact, touch was almost audible; she craved so badly for him to hold her and she knew he did too. And his stare. Fixed on her, drinking her in. He was looking at her as if this would be the last time he would see her.

“John...”

“Rose-“

“…If you’re going…” she said, the words falling from her lips like a distorted parody of speech. “…then please, say it. Say what you’ve always been meaning to say, since the day we met. For me.”

John looked at her and his eyes were like the sky above. Endless and profound. Old eyes, ancient. And full of sorrow, yearning, regret, loss. And love. He stared at her for a second that seemed to last an eternity.

And then he turned and walked away.

Time seemed to slow as Rose’s heart finally shattered. In a moment he was gone. Just the glimpse of a brown coat and the tail end of a breeze, like all those years ago when she had been left standing, alone, on the beach at Bad Wolf Bay. Such a young face, but the same face. She was never going to see him again. Like a merry-go-round, her life was returning to square one. Alone. Again. The seconds ticked by. That was her fate, and she needed to accept it.

But then she changed her mind.

She was not going to let this happen. Not again. She had lost once before. And it had broken her, was _still_ breaking her. She felt his absence like a stab in her gut and she knew in that precise moment that she would never be able to live with herself if she let him go.

And so she ran. She ran after him and all she could see were their memories together. Winding across her vision like the threads of a spiderweb. One second, and she was in London; then, she was beneath the salt flats of Utah, fighting for her life against the deadliest creature in the universe. She turned the corner, and she was with him in Scotland, fleeing from a monster the likes of which could only be found in legend. And they were with her too. All those people, all those lives she had touched. All cheering her on, helping her find her Doctor.

There he was. Across the road, back turned. But she knew it was him. How could she not have known it was him? And she was running. Reaching out. Just an inch separating them. Before.

She did not even see it coming.

The car hit her at forty miles per hour and shattered fifty of her bones. The air was forced out of her lungs as her body eventually hit the tarmac, head landing on the surface with a _crack_ like a broken twig. She could not move. It hurt to breathe, her chest tightening like a coil. Her lung must be punctured. Her heart strained, stopped, then spluttered back to life. She cried out as she tried to move her left hand. The scaphoid, the triquetrum; her entire wrist was fractured. Funny how nursing knowledge came to her at this moment. She could not even feel her right hand. Or her legs.

Sounds and images came to her in flashes, as if she was viewing the world around her through a kaleidoscope. Or maybe that was her eyelids flickering open and shut as she strained to stay conscious. She could hear voices overlapping; screams and shouts and calls for a doctor. She felt like laughing. There was no point in an ambulance at this point, her uni course had taught her that at least. She could feel the life ebb away from her, and for a second, panic rose to the forefront of her mind. She cried out. Or tried to at least. But suddenly, as quickly as it had arisen, the fear vanished. She felt her lung collapse entirely and felt strangely calm. She was dying, but she was happy. For once, she had followed what she wanted. She did not regret it. And now he could move on too. _No need to say goodbye_ , she thought. _I’ve done that for you_.

“ROSE!”

She heard the scream, piercing through the sound of blood rushing in her ears. Gentle hands wrapped around her limp, near lifeless body. She was softly lifted up from the sticky, bloodied road surface and it hurt more than anything Rose had felt before. She could not tell if the scream that followed was hers or someone else’s.

“No no no…” She heard someone mutter over and over again like a scratched CD. She willed her eyes to open and was surprised to find that her muscles would still obey her. Inch by inch, her vision was flooded by light. She had not noticed that the sun was so bright today. And the sky, so blue for a winter’s day.

Above her was a face. A kind face lined with grief. John was crouched over her, cradling her in his arms as her blood soaked through the material of his trousers and shirtsleeves. She attempted to smile. Tears fell furiously from his eyes, hot against her skin as they dropped onto her cheeks.

“John-“ she tried to speak, but she had so little energy left. He buried the crown of his head in her chest.

“Oh Rose.” He said. “What have I done?”

He lifted his head up and brought a hand to cradle her face. Tears mixed with blood. She could feel the warmth of his fingertips as they rubbed her cheek.

But then, just before her eyes clouded over and she could fall back into endless black, light flashed brilliantly at the corner of her vision. Bright, golden light; it wrapped around her limbs like ivy. Even in such a bad state, Rose recognised it. Drawing on all the little spirit she had left, she forced herself to focus on John and her lips fell into a small smile. His face, it was glowing as golden as honey in the sun; the tears glistening like stars. That face. That old, old face.

Her eyes lolled back into her head and she collapsed. Her body felt light, like it was drifting on a sea of inky black. Senses shutting down, she heard one final thing before her heart stopped. One final admission. The one she’d been searching for all this time, even when she did not know it.

“Rose Tyler, I think you need a Doctor.”


	10. The Journey's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose gets one final chance to say goodbye to the man she loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! This chapter was so hard to write! Thank you for being patient with me. I just wanted to get this one right! I hope you enjoy it, the last chapter of this story AHHH. But keep your eyes peeled, I might just have one last trick up my sleeve!

In the depths of a cold winter night, a nurse was hard at work.

She drifted from bed to bed, expression never once changing for every patient. Whether their recovery had been deemed hopeful or were at death’s door, she attended them with the same clinical efficiency and soft smile. Silence was her only company, but every now and again, cries of pain from restless patients would echo down the empty corridors. She would go to them, check their morphine and stand by their bedsides until they settled.

Within the ICU ward, she was responsible for ten of the patients. She knew all of them by name, knew their needs and their injuries, and would know them until they left, either having recovered or being taken somewhere more comfortable to spend their last days with their loved ones. She did not know their stories; their likes, dislikes, dreams or fears. That sort of information was hard to find out when most of your patients relied on ventilators to breathe.

The ward was dimly lit by artificial strip lights. The soft sound of beeping sounded out an irregular rhythm from behind drawn curtains. Gentle, steady hands lifted bruised limbs, applied fresh bandages, replaced drips. She was well-versed in it all by now. Returning to her station, she shook the computer mouse slightly and the screen flashed on. She scanned the names. All accounted for and seen to, her work was done for the moment. She flicked through the paperwork on her clipboard, nodding her head in satisfaction when she saw that everything had been signed for, then placed it down. The sound of plastic meeting countertop seemed loud against the quiet backdrop of the room.

But then, amongst the patients buried under wires and tubing, something caught her eye. A sudden movement amongst the stillness. In her hurry to finish her tasks, she had not even noticed him.

A man. Young; late twenties or so. Good-looking. He was sat in one of the high-backed green armchairs reserved for visitors, but he was bent over, resting his crossed arms and head at the foot of one of the beds. His eyes were closed, asleep maybe. But not in the way she saw most visitors to the ICU sleep; bodies slumped and heads lolled back as if finally they had succumbed to the exhaustion and stress. No, his posture remained strangely rigid. Defensive even. As if he had been watching over the patient until sleep had claimed him and was still on guard, despite the façade of rest. Why was he still here anyway, this late into the night? He should not even be there. Visiting hours had closed a long time ago.

Suddenly, as if he knew she was watching him, his eyes snapped open and he lifted his head to look up at her. She flashed him a small, professional smile from behind the counter, heart jumping slightly in her chest from the sudden movement. He smiled back, but it was half-hearted. It was not because he was tired; the bright glint of awareness in his eyes told her that. No, it was something else; something she had come to recognise after so many years working there in the hospital. It was as if he were carrying a weight on his back. Something so overwhelmingly heavy, and even from a fair few metres away, she could see it painted as clear as day on his face. She glanced down at the patient list on her clipboard. Bay eleven, Rose Tyler. Car accident. So she was right, she thought. It was guilt that plagued him.

She looked back up to see him stretching upwards, unfurling his limbs like a cat awaking from a nap. He glanced down at the woman in the bed and then up at the life-support machine, lips falling into a contented smile when he saw the steady heartbeat and BP level on the monitor screen. He reached over and brought a hand to her face. His thumb traced gently over her cheek.

She made her way over to him, grasping the clipboard against her chest. Again, he turned his gaze back to her and smiled.

“Can I get you anything, sir?”

The man shook is head graciously. “Thanks for asking, but no. I’m sorry if I’m bothering you. I know I’m not meant to be here, but I can’t bear the thought of leaving her.”

“I understand.” She said, eyes round and forgiving. “She must be very important to you, if you don’t mind me saying.”

He turned his head to look back at the woman, returning his hands to the curve of her cheek. “She is. More than she will ever know.”

Silence persisted for a few moments before the nurse turned to walk away.

“If you have any worries or need anything, please do not hesitate to find me.” She said, looking back over her shoulder.

“Thank you.”

“Oh, and Sir.” She added, and at this, his eyes locked back onto her once more. “I was here when they first brought her in a few days ago, and if there’s one thing I know about her is that she’s a fighter. Somehow, I just know for certain that she’s going to pull through.”

With that, the man looked at her, nodding his head slightly with soft, kind eyes. He did not need to say a word for her to know that he was grateful. She returned to the counter, shuffling paperwork together ready for the next nurse to arrive for her shift, and glanced over one last time at the couple in bay eleven. Whoever that woman was to him, she was very lucky. And as that nurse made her way to her locker, put on her coat, checked her phone and left the hospital as the flaming crescent of the sun peeked out from behind the skyline, she knew that the image she had of that man, holding her with a tenderness and love that seemed so rare in this day and age, would stay with her forever.

* * *

Rose awoke suddenly to a white room, brightly lit and smelling pungently of antiseptic.

The lights flickered on moments before she opened her eyes. A manmade hospital dawn two hours before the natural one. She took a few short, shaky breaths as her vision came into focus, blinking a few times before the scene around her settled. Her throat was as dry as parchment; she spotted a plastic cup of water on the table next to her, but when she tried to reach for it, it was as if her limbs had been sapped of all energy. Her arms were as heavy as lead, one refusing to budge at all, so she gave up, resting her right one on top of the white linen sheets she was tucked under.

She had been propped up at some point. Facing the rows of cubicles across from her, it dawned on her that she was in a hospital bed. That’s right. She had been in a car accident. She tried to crane her neck and found it beyond her. Returning her head to the soft pillow, she let out a long, unsteady breath as beads of sweat pricked at her hairline.

She cast her eyes downwards. Her entire left arm was in a cast, pulled up against her chest in a sling. She had not even noticed. In her right hand was a drip, and she followed the tubing upwards until she caught sight of an IV bag dangling in the corner of her vision. The area around the drip felt hot, and she instantly became aware of a sensation spreading through her arm. A dull ache that made her grit her teeth with discomfort.

Looking back at the hospital room, it was as if her senses were suddenly switched on after a long time. The sounds and smells hit her like a wave and she had to take a moment to steady herself, her head all of a sudden feeling dizzy. The ward was filled with a concoction of scents; the strong smell of pine bleach mixed with questionable meals on plastic trays. A TV played quietly in one corner, drowned out by the sounds of automatic doors swinging open and shut as people of all sorts marched in and out. It was too much for Rose, and she hissed quietly in pain as the room spun.

She must have made more noise than she realised, as within seconds, a nurse was at her side, checking the point at which the drip pierced her skin. Rose looked at her, and she smiled back; a slender face with pretty eyes and a kind mouth.

“How are we feeling today, Rose?” the nurse asked, glancing up behind Rose to what she assumed was her name placard. “I couldn’t help but notice you were in some pain.”

Rose nodded her head, speech seeming a little too out of reach in the moment. The nurse nodded, expression understanding.

“This is the first time you’ve regained consciousness fully since you joined us here in the ICU.” She said as she lifted the plaster from the drip, inspecting the area carefully with narrowed eyes. She placed a finger on the area of skin next to the drip and pressed down lightly, letting go quickly as Rose groaned in pain. “I’m sorry. It’s hurting there, is it?”

Rose managed another nod. The nurse pressed her lips into a straight line. “It looks like the drip may have been dislodged, maybe when you woke up. I can imagine you were very disorientated when you came to.”

She placed Rose’s hand back down carefully and then fetched her information folder from the foot of her bed. She spoke more to herself than to Rose. “Drip was replaced two days ago. Last round of antibiotics administered one hour ago.” She glanced back up, shooting Rose a reassuring smile. “You won’t need the next lot of antibiotics for another two hours or so. That should give us plenty of time to sort the drip out. Just be patient for a moment whilst I fetch what I need, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

True to her word, the nurse returned promptly, this time with startlingly blue gloves on her hands and bandages and antiseptic in her arms. She asked Rose before raising her bed up further, until she was almost sitting upright. It hurt as she was lifted up, but Rose grinned and bared it. She quite liked this nurse and did not want to worry her further.

The nurse talked to her as she worked, gently removing the plaster from her hand and then sliding the drip out with practiced deftness. As she turned her arm over, checking for veins close to the surface of her skin, she told Rose of her latest patient who refused to eat anything other than mashed potatoes and gravy. Then it was the one who always made her stay and watch the latest episode of Coronation Street with her whenever she had a second to spare. Rose felt the cool swipe of antiseptic being applied to her wrist, and knew the nurse was trying to distract her as she removed the needle from its packaging. A pang of nervousness resounded in her chest. She had never been good with needles. She closed her eyes as the nurse punctured her skin, surprised that all she could feel was a small, rather underwhelming prick.

“There, all done.” The nurse said gently, pulling the plastic gloves off her hand with a snap. As she chucked them in the bin next to the bed, she glanced back at Rose with a quirk of the lips. “You know, its my lunch break soon, and since I was planning on going to the shop at reception, is there anything you would like me to smuggle in for you?”

Rose raised her eyebrows and the nurse laughed. “Within reason, of course…”

If hospital food was as bland and disappointing as Rose remembered, it was probably best if she turned down the offer. But then again, the nurse had said a shop. And a shop meant…

“…Chocolate.” She said faintly, but there was no hiding the mischievous look in her eye. The nurse seemed to catch on and nodded her head discreetly. As she turned to go, she paused for a second, looking back over her shoulder.

“Any particular kind?” she said, smiling impishly.

Rose managed a smile in return. “Mars bar, please…”

An hour later, Rose was tucking into her chocolate bar, taking small bites as she swallowed as much as she could. Her stomach rumbled with happiness as flavours of cheap nougat and caramel swirled on her tongue. It had been too long since she had had one of these. Happy memories of trips to the corner store as a child rose to the surface of her mind.

The nurse was sat in the chair to the right of her bed, smiling as she helped Rose break up the chocolate bar into smaller, more manageable pieces.

“You are such a bad influence.” She laughed as she watched Rose practically inhale two pieces of mars bar at once. “I should be preparing for the lunch rounds.”

Energy had since returned to Rose, and she found speaking a little easier than when she had first woken up. It was most likely a sugar-induced high, but it nevertheless felt nice to have life flow through her limbs again. She laughed, a raspy sound. “Admit it, this is far more fun.”

The nurse let her head drop, chuckling to herself. “Fair enough. I can’t deny that I don’t get to spoon-feed patients chocolate all that often.” Rose shot her a playful glare and she laughed. “Alright. I admit it. This is _definitely_ better than admin.”

Deciding that half a bar was her limit at the moment, Rose slowly wrapped up the remainder, passing it to the nurse who put on the table next to her water. She leant back into the bed, sighing happily.

“God, that was nice. I was starving.”

“Well, that’s understandable. You haven’t had solid food since your operation.”

Rose glanced at her from her pillow. “How long ago was that then? I’ve completely lost track of time since the accident.”

“A week ago, now.” The nurse, sighed. “You were incredibly lucky. Considering how fast that car was travelling, you should have sustained far worse injuries than you actually had.”

Of course, Rose had noticed. How could she not have?

She knew that her legs had been broken from the casts they were wrapped in. Then there was her arm. And the bruised feeling that blossomed in her chest whenever she inhaled; she must have broken a rib if not a few. But from what she could tell, limited as she was by her condition, that was all that wrong with her. She had not only survived being hit by a car, but with incredibly minor repercussions. Unnaturally so. And she knew that her injuries had been worse than that. Whenever she closed her eyes, it was as if she was transported back to the scene, her crumpled body hitting the tarmac like a discarded stone. She could feel the blood trickling down her forehead, feel the ghost of head trauma amongst her matted blonde hair. She could sense as her lungs deflated, felt her chest swell with liquid, choke on it as if she were drowning. She saw all of this until she opened her eyes again, and she was back, lying in her bed and healed to a point that should have been completely impossible within a week. But no matter how hard she tried, it was like a mental block was standing in her way, making her thoughts hazy to the point that she could not remember why this had happened. Why she ended up in the intensive care unit of a hospital swathed in bandages. She remembered that she had gone to find John, to confront him. She had followed him from his lecture and through the streets of London, but that was it. She was still following him, the roads winding on and on forever, never ending. Somehow leading her to this bed.

She shook her head, groaning slightly at the sharp pain it generated in her neck. The nurse tutted, reaching over to pull the pillow further up to support the top of her spine. Rose smiled at her graciously.

“I don’t know why…” Rose said suddenly, and the nurse looked at her attentively. “…but for some reason I can’t remember what happened. It’s like there’s a blank space in my memory where the accident should be, but my brain doesn’t want me to see it just yet.”

“Accidents like yours can be traumatising, to both your body _and_ your mind. It may take a few days before your memory reboots, weeks maybe.”

Rose sunk back into the bed, staring off into the distance. “But there’s something I’m missing. Something nagging at me from the back of my mind, something important that I _need_ to remember. Like my life depends on it.”

The nurse looked at her, eyebrows furrowed and bow of her round lips stuck out in concentration. “Perhaps…we could try and trigger it?”

Rose turned to her, eyes wide. “Really? Would that work?”

The nurse shrugged, face suggesting a hint of worry. “I don’t know. But these things are risky, and I’m really not qualified for this. I don’t want for you to remember anything bad or panic-inducing.”

“But really?” Rose asked. “You would do that for me?”

For a moment, Rose thought that the nurse really might refuse. She looked around them guiltily as if they were being watched, then bent forward to say quietly. “Okay. I’ll help you try and get your memory back, but we stop as soon as you show any signs of distress. Deal?”

Rose nodded. “Deal.”

“Okay then.” The nurse said, relaxing slightly as she sat back in the armchair. “Let’s start with the time before the accident. What were you doing that day?”

“I remember that all very clearly.” Rose started. “I was really nervous because I was planning to confront someone. I thought he might be lying to me about something and so I had spent ages building up to this moment in which I was planning to get him to admit to it.”

“Who was this person? A friend?”

Rose blushed. “A little more than a friend.”

“Right, so you were on your way to meet this _friend_.” The nurse said, shooting her a knowing smile. “And then what? Did you see him?”

“Yes, we talked. And long story short, it didn’t go exactly how I had planned. In fact, it went as badly as it could have gone.”

“So, you had finished talking to this person and then what happened? Did you leave?”

“You know…” Rose said, laughing a little. “…You’re really wasted in this job. You could totally be a detective.”

“ _Thank you_.” The nurse said, shrugging graciously.

“Don’t mention it.”

“So, the conversation ended and…”

Rose sighed; a deep thing filled with exasperation. “That’s when it all starts to get a bit hazy. I remember thinking that I needed to make amends…that’s right! He had walked away, and I decided to follow him! I think it’s coming back to me!”

She glanced at the nurse, who returned her expression of excitement.

She continued. “Yes, that’s it. I was following him. I was so determined that this time, I wasn’t going to let him slip away, so I chased after him and-“

Suddenly, the words caught in her throat and Rose stopped in her tracks. For some reason, the words were stuck, unable to pass her lips. It was as if her mouth was a window and it had been sealed shut; the locks painted over again and again. Noises came back to her, screams echoing in her head but muffled, like their origin was far away from her. And smells; she felt like choking as the acrid smell of oil and smoke burned at the lining of her nose. Her eyes widened as she remembered what had happened; it dawned on her in an instant as if a switch had been flicked on in her mind.

“And?” The nurse probed further, but Rose was too absorbed to see the lines of worry on her face.

“That can’t be…” She whispered, eyes not once leaving the empty space in front of her. “…That’s impossible.”

“What’s impossible?”

As the words finally were spoken, Rose’s heart plummeted as a deep sense of unease rapidly swelled in her chest. “I died.”

She could see it now. It was like she was viewing the scene as a bystander on the pavement as she gazed down at her lifeless body. Broken beyond repair. She was being cradled by someone; their hands white as they grasped at the ripped and bloodied sleeves of her blouse. The nurse’s face paled, and she shuffled forward on the chair, taking Rose’s free hand carefully in her own.

“You didn’t die Rose.” She said softly, as one would talk to an agitated animal. “You’re still here. You’re in the hospital remember. Someone called for an ambulance and you were taken to A&E and now you’re here in the ICU getting treatment for your injuries.”

“No, I can remember quite clearly.” Rose interrupted. “I died. My heart stopped. But how is that _possible_?”

“Right, Rose.” The nurse stood up suddenly, brushing her hands down her uniform restlessly as agitation set in. “I think that’s enough. You’re obviously not ready for this yet; I’ll see if I can book you in for an appointment with the psychiatric doctor and you can-“

“Doctor…” The word stood out like a beacon amongst the wash of a choppy grey sea. Rose turned to the nurse and before she could walk away, grabbed her by the wrist, ignoring the bolt of pain that shot down her arm as the drip was most likely dislodged again. “…tell me. Did anyone come to visit me whilst I was unconscious.”

Eyes widening with shock, the nurse managed to stutter a few words, the warmth and kindness that had defined by previous actions draining away. “W-well…you’re parents came to visit you a few days ago-“

“No, no. Not them!” Rose shook her head. It was there, she could sense it. On the tip of her tongue. “Anyone else. Anyone who seemed a little different? Strange even?”

The nurse slipped her hand out from Rose’s grasp and stared at her for a second before her eyes lit up with recognition. “Yes, actually. There was. A man.”

Rose tried not to let her face betray the shock she felt. “What did he look like?”

“Young. Short brown hair. Noticeable chin. He visited you quite a few times, particularly at night. Refused to leave your side for the first few days you were in here.”

With that, the nurse hurried away, not once looking back as she rushed back to her station. But Rose barely noticed her absence. Instead her mind was fixed on an image; an image she had forgotten but now recognised as clear as day. Forgetting, always forgetting him. But this time she remembered. That beautiful, devastating, golden light. As alien as the suns of faraway planets and desert sands of distant moons. He had saved her. She did not know how he had done it, but he had saved her. It was him. John. The Doctor. Her Doctor.

She leant back into her pillow. She had found him. And as she realised that, after all these years and despite all the odds, he had come back to her, she closed her eyes. And smiled.

* * *

The days flew by until days became a week, and then one week became two. Rose moved out of the Intensive Care Unit, her injuries healing at an extraordinary rate that astounded the nurses and doctors in the ward. She knew that they were wary of her, even if they tried their best to hide it behind a façade of professionalism. No one got better that fast.

Her new bed in the general surgery ward was comfortable at least; her own little corner of a mini-kingdom of wards and clinics and operating theatres. There were only three other beds in the room, and her neighbours seemed to change quite regularly. When she had first arrived, her only companion was an older woman who was recovering from a hip replacement surgery. Now the other beds were full; one woman around her age who, despite recently undergoing an operation on her right eye, talked to her non-stop. And another woman who kept to herself, staring at the walls which had been painted colours chosen to be restful, but were more akin to the interior of a funeral home. There was no real view from the window, just the steep incline of a neighbouring rooftop. But sometimes, if she looked hard enough, she could catch a glimpse of the night sky above and she would spend hours just gazing upwards at the slither of dark blue, hoping for a sign that he would come back. She was not sure if she would ever see the Doctor again. Since her memory had returned to her, he had not come to visit her even once. But she held on to hope as tightly as she could. Grabbed it by the coattails before it could disappear. Her prayers had been answered before; maybe fate was still in her favour.

It was on one, rather unextraordinary, Tuesday evening that her wish would finally come true.

Rose had just finished her dinner. It was disappointing, but she had come to expect that of the food served there. The menu that day had consisted of a typically uninspiring ensemble of shepherd’s pie with lukewarm tinned vegetables and watery gravy. She had not even bothered with the sad-looking jelly and ice-cream for dessert. The nurse had just taken her half-full tray away and now she returned her attention to the scattering of stars she could see above the roof outside the window, ignoring the episode of Eastenders playing quietly in the background. She sighed as she lent back into her pillow. The sky was so beautiful tonight; hues of burnt sienna and deep red bleeding out into patches of navy blue. For a moment, she wondered where her Doctor was now. Probably in some distant galaxy fighting to protect a defenceless planet; yes, that sounded about right. She smiled up at the stars and hoped that no matter how far away he might be, he would be able to sense her as she gazed upwards.

“Rose Tyler?” A voice sounded out to her left, and she recognised it as one of the nurse’s. “You have a visitor.”

She turned her head, expecting to see her mother or father. Another badly timed visit perhaps; stubbornly staying despite visiting hours closing in less than thirty minutes. But her eyes widened in shock as they swept over a familiar figure dressed in the very same long, brown coat she had seen him wear on the day she had said goodbye. He hung back behind the nurse, hands clasped together. If Rose did not know better, she would have said he looked nervous. But no emotion, big or small, was going to get in the way of them this time, and so she let her lips fall into a gentle smile, eyes sparkling.

“Hello, Doctor.”

So, he was not on a distant planet. He was here, with her. The Doctor stepped forward bashfully and brought a hand to the back of his head. As he did so, the nurse looked between them with a knowing smile, then nodded. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

For a second he stood still, not moving a muscle. Seeing him finally stand there before her, disguise abandoned, was incredibly disorientating. It was like looking at two different people sharing the same body. One was the human man she had grown to love; the young man who had cared for her and brought excitement back to her life. And the other was the ancient being; the last of his kind and the one who she still longed for and craved like oxygen after all these years. But despite the nervousness and the confusion, she was overwhelmed with happiness. Reaching out a hand, she called him over with a toss of her head, and he followed, slowly making his way to her bedside and taking her hand in his. He was careful not to bump the drip in her wrist as he curled his fingers around hers.

“Hello, Rose.”

“So, you were the one who stayed with me after the accident?”

The Doctor simply smiled and dipped his head in conformation. Rose grasped his hand as tightly as she could.

“Thank you.”

She nodded her head towards the wheelchair at the foot of her bed.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?”

* * *

Neither of them spoke as the Doctor wheeled her through the winding corridors, the bright strip lights shining above them with an almost migrainous intensity. It was a relief when they finally broke through the double doors of the hospital entrance and into the cool, slick night. The air was crisp against Rose’s skin. She shivered a little through the thin material of her hospital gown, but she relished in it. It was a nice change from the stuffy hospital room, and for once, her mind was clear.

They came to a stop at a bench a hundred or so metres away. It was as quiet as such a nocturnal place would get; just the two of them under the night sky and the distant hum of traffic in and out of the doors behind them. The Doctor did not hesitate as he wrapped his arms around her, gently lifting her up from the wheelchair and onto the bench. Resting her back against the slightly damp wood, she winced at the aching sensation as she stretched her limbs for the first time in weeks. The Doctor looked at her with concern in his eyes, but she just shook her head and smiled. She could bear the pain for now. Now that she was with him. But she could not stop her shoulders from shaking as the wind whipped through her clothes, sending tufts of hair flying up into the air. He seemed to notice, shrugging off his beloved coat and wrapping it around her. She pulled it further around her body, snuggling into it like a caterpillar in a cocoon.

He sat down in the space next to her, and she leant against his shoulder.

“Are you not cold?”

The Doctor stared ahead at the florescent city lights that shone through the trees in front of them, but even the darkness could not hide that smirk. “You humans, always complaining about being too cold or too hot.”

“Oh, so we’re finally admitting it then?” Rose said sarcastically. She shrugged, pouting. “Not that I ever believed you. I always knew that there was something about you that was not quite human.”

At that, the Doctor finally looked down at her, one eyebrow raised and lips pulled into a smug smile. Rose sighed. “Okay, you did have me fooled. But can you blame me?”

The Doctor quirked his head, gazing at her quizzically, so she elaborated. “Your face. It’s so _young_. It’s hard to recognise you, even now that I know it’s you.”

“Oh, but I’m old, Rose.” He said, eyes locking back onto the skyline that blazed upwards from the foot of the hill. It was like they could see the whole of London from where they were sat; spread out before them like map pulsating with light and sound and life. “I’m so very old now that it’s hard to remember just how old I am.”

“How long? How long has it been since you last saw me?”

A moment of silence, then: “Three hundred years, give or take. I lose count.”

 _Three hundred years._ In that stolen moment in which neither of them spoke, Rose took the opportunity to study his face. So smooth and without lines. She had thought it an age since they had said goodbye to each other on that fateful day six years ago, but for him it had been centuries. Lifetimes away. She was surprised that he still recognised her. But she really had not changed all that much, had she. Apart from the shorter hair style and the ghost of smile lines around her lips, she was still the same girl he had grabbed the hand of all those years ago. Rather, it was him who had changed. Yes, he was still her Doctor. He was just as clever, just as silly, just as amazing; but he was older. She had seen it in him when they first locked eyes with each other in the café and she had been right. He had aged countless years since their parting and under that recognisable childishness and charisma there was a wiser, more austere man than the one she saw disappear on Bad Wolf Bay.

A sudden sadness swelled in her chest. She did not like to dwell on how long he had been without her and so she changed the subject. She tried not to wince at how the disjointed and messy the sudden change in mood was.

“So, how are you here?” She shuffled further towards him and buried her cheek into the fabric of his light-blue shirt. “You must have some explanation. You did say that visiting parallel worlds was impossible after all.”

At the mention of something scientific, and thus much more up his street, the Doctor visibly relaxed. He stretched an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. “Yes. Well…no. Not really. I would like to know why I’m here, but I’m afraid I don’t. It’s really quite embarrassing. I _hate_ being shown up in public like this!”

Rose giggled at the sight of his pouty face and disappointed frown. “So, for once, the amazing, super-intelligent Time Lord from outer space doesn’t actually know?”

The Doctor gasped; comically loud as he waved his free hand in the air around him. “It’s not like _you_ would understand anyway, you humans and your tiny brains. It’s far too…timey-wimey.”

“Timey-wimey?” Rose said under her breath, trying not to laugh at his peculiar outburst. She looked up at him, eyes challenging. “Try me.”

The Doctor sniffed, shrugged his shoulders and stuck out his chin in pride. “Well, I do have a bit of a working theory. You see, when I said I would never be able to travel to your world, I was lying. Well, not _lying_ , as it’s ninety-nine percent true. It’s practically impossible. But remember when your friend Rickey-“

“Mickey…” Rose said, rolling her eyes.

“-Right, Mickey. Remember when he and his friends jumped from their world to ours when the cybermen invaded? When they did, they ripped a hole in the universe. And like a wound scars over and heals, the universe did so too, but not without a price. Those holes remained as a weak spot in the very fabric of the universe, in theory allowing all sorts to go back and forth as long as they were powerful enough. But it was just theoretical. It took a sun to burn for me to see you again for a few minutes, remember?”

Rose nodded, those precious last moments with him still clear in her memory. She frowned with concentration. “So, how did you manage to get through?”

“That’s the bit I haven’t figured out yet. You see, it wasn’t me, it was the TARDIS. She brought me here. After the Pond left me- yes, the married couple I told you about before- I was…lost. Grieving. They had been me ever since I had regenerated into this body and I wasn’t ready to see them go quite so suddenly. Anyways, I moved on, as I always have to do. Never looking back. And I met another girl-“

Rose’s eyes lit up with recognition, supressing that familiar pang of jealousy in her chest. “The landlady! Clara!”

The Doctor nodded. “Yes, that’s her.”

Rose stared up at him, pulling her lips into a playful smile. “That was an awful cover story, by the way. Living in a _storage unit_ , really?! I bet the TARDIS didn’t like being called that!”

“You’re too clever for your own good.” The Doctor shook his head, smiling back. “Just don’t ever tell Clara that I called her my landlady. She would hang, draw and quarter me.”

“I won’t, I promise.” Rose laughed. “So, you met this girl, Clara. Then what?”

“You know well enough that I shouldn’t travel alone. I need someone there to…hold me back sometimes. So, Clara came on board and I took her to see her first planet, some outrageous galaxy far away, the usual procedure. But even then, I still felt lonely. I don’t quite know how to describe it; it was like my chest was hollow, a bit like one of my hearts had vanished and instead there was just empty space in its place. I dropped Clara off after her first trip and, I don’t know, I guess I must have lost it. The grief just overwhelmed me and I collapsed. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in a smoke-filled console room in a parallel universe, the TARDIS out of action and no way back. I didn’t even know it was your world until I stumbled into your café that day and saw you, like a ghost from my past. It was her, the TARDIS. She always seems to know what’s best for me, so she must have used all her power, burning her heart up just to bring me here to you. In my darkest of moments, she sought you out. My Rose.”

Rose reached over an interlaced her fingers with his. She had taken the drip out, and she relished how light her limbs felt; free from being pumped full of anti-biotics and painkillers for the first time in weeks. His skin felt so soft as he dragged his thumb over the tops of her knuckles, drawing circles at the crease between her thumb and index finger. It seemed so right, seeing him sitting there with her under the stars.

“Look at you.” She said, grasping his hand tighter. “Standing next to me, you make me seem so much older, even though you’re as ancient as some as the planets you save. That’s very rude of you.”

The Doctor chuckled deeply, dropping his head down to meet his chest as his shoulders shook lightly. “I know, I’ve got a bit of a vanity issue apparently. Then again, this was my last regeneration. I had to make it count, right?”

Rose’s eyes widened. “Your last regeneration? But you told me once that you could have twelve. Thirteen faces. Thirteen Doctors.”

“I’ve had countless lives, Rose.” The Doctor said, evasive as ever. “They were bound to run out at some point.”

Rose shook her head. “But I saw you, when we on the road after the…accident. Your face, it was glowing. It was like last time at the space station.”

The Doctor looked away, swallowing as if he were trying to push something back down his throat before he could let the words spill from his lips. He always did this. Hide things from her. “That was different.”

“How?”

“It wasn’t regeneration energy, per se. More like life energy.”

“ _Life_ energy?!” Rose sat back from him suddenly and winced at the pain that shot through her recovering arm. Unfortunately, the lack of morphine in her system was really starting to show. The Doctor brought a hand up to her back to steady her and tried to guide her back to his side. But she stood her ground.

“Doctor…” she warned.

The man in front of her sighed, dropping his hand onto the space between them. “Alright. Time Lords, we have this sort of…ability. We can manipulate our life energy, shorten our lives; a bit like how humans can reduce their life span if they smoke…or eat badly. But we can redirect our energy to another receptacle. Only in the rarest of situations, mind. It’s not something we use frivolously.”

“I don’t understand.”

The Doctor smiled; a kind, gentle thing. “I gave you some of my life energy, Rose. To save you. It may have taken a few years off my life, but it was worth it.”

Rose stared at him in horror. “What? You gave away years of your life just to heal me? How many?”

“I wasn’t going to let you die Rose-“

“How many?”

A pause, then: “No more than a hundred years.”

“ _What?_ ”

“That’s nothing compared to losing you.” The Doctor tried to plead with her, but she could feel anger bubbling in her chest. How could he be so reckless with his life? She turned to face him.

“Okay then.” She said, seething. “So, you healed me. Let’s see just how good a job you did at that.”

And then she slapped him. The Doctor reeled back, a hand shooting up to his face to cradle his cheek as it rapidly turned a deep shade of red. He stared at her; eyes wide with shock.

“Ow!” He huffed. _“_ Why does that _always_ happen?!”

Rose sat up, rigid and chest high. She crossed her arms. “ _That_ was for being stupid. How could you waste your life like that? You’ve only got one left.”

“Oh Rose…” The Doctor let go of his cheek, titling his head to look at her with an unreadable expression. In the light of the cityscape and stars above, he had never looked so ancient. “Saving you would never be a waste, no matter the cost.”

For a moment, they both sat there, looking at each other until the distance between them almost became audible, crying out for them to breach it and hold each other. Rose could not deny the anger that still swirled inside of her, but she knew that the nature of the Doctor meant that any time with him would be fleeting. She could blink, and at any second he could be gone, just a whisper in the night-time breeze. She should not waste her time with him on an emotion as unimportant as hatred, and so she bridged the gap between them, reaching up around his shoulders to pull him into a tight hug.

“You were always so annoying like that.” She said into his shoulder.

“Like what?”

“So hard to stay angry at.”

* * *

The minutes ticked by, and night descended upon the hospital like a blanket. The sky was a shot-silk, dark blue that you so often got on a winter’s evening with stars punctured through the fabric. Rose’s legs were balanced on the benchtop, tucked into her chest as she drew the outlines of constellations on the back of the Doctor’s hand. He was telling her about the Rings of Akhaten and the plight of millions of people at the hands of a tyrant parasite sun. _We toppled a sun god with a leaf, Rose. Can you imagine it, a leaf!_

She smiled at his boyish excitement. There was some things that never changed. But as much as she loved hearing of his stories, she could not help but be distracted but a question nagging at her from the back of her mind. She had asked him it all those nights ago, when they were curled up on her sofa; stomachs full with omelette and minds dizzy from a bit too much wine. And, as he had always done, he had avoided it.

As soon as she pictured the words in her mind, it was hard to stop them from being said.

“Why did you stay?” She said suddenly, interrupting a story about a motorcycle and the Shard. “I get that the TARDIS was out of action for a while, but you said on that day before the accident that you were leaving. So why didn’t you just go?”

Pausing, the Doctor looked up at the sky, as if contemplating what to say next. After a while, he looked back down at her. “I thought about leaving. The TARDIS was finally ready to fly, I had cut off all my ties here in this world, said goodbye to you. But it didn’t seem right. I couldn’t just leave you there in the hospital, so broken due to me. It was my fault, so I had to stay.”

“Okay…” Rose said. “But why lie to me then? All this time, you pretended to be someone you weren’t, why? I just don’t understand. Did you think I would reject you? Doctor, I could never…”

“No, it wasn’t that.” The Doctor cut her off, then inhaled sharply. What he said next sounded to Rose like a confession. “I thought I could stay away. When I first saw you, I was overcome with this enormous sense of dread because I knew. Knew that know you were here, it would be hard for me to not interfere with the life you had built. But I thought I could do it. Just keep my head down and wait out the next few months as the TARDIS recharged. But I was stupid. I should have known that it would be impossible to stay away from you. And when you came over to my table, sat down and gave me your number, this silly idea popped into my head. What if I stayed here, built a life with you? Be the man that you always wanted but I could never be.”

He laughed bitterly. “But that’s the thing. I can’t be that man. Don’t get me wrong; settling down, finding a house…having a mortgage.” He shot her a knowing smile. “It’s the one adventure that I thought I would never have. But here I was. John Smith, ordinary human with an ordinary job and ordinary life. I started to grasp onto any semblance of normality, afraid that if I let go, it would be like last time. You would be lost to me. Forever. And I was so afraid that I was blind to how I was hurting you; filling you with false hope at a life with a man who was merely a lie. So I decided that I needed to leave.”

“But why do you have to?” Rose asked. “You need to stop making decisions for me Doctor. I’m not the wide-eyed girl you first met working in that department store, I’m older now and I know what’s best for me. I _want_ you to stay. So why can’t you?”

The Doctor smiled, in in that smile, Rose saw the weight of centuries of living and losing. “My time’s over now, Rose. But not for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's not long now for you, I don't think.” He said. He repaid Rose’s confused expression with a quirk of the lips. “Time doesn’t always work chronologically, especially around me. I’m afraid that this is the last time I’ll ever see you. But that doesn’t mean that this is the last time you’ll see me.”

“Doctor…”

He turned to her, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears and her breath caught in her throat. “You see, the universe had plans for you yet, Rose Tyler. I may have used up my lives, but you have a lifetime ahead of you. A wonderful, amazing, fantastic lifetime. Trust me, I know. And you will be just brilliant.”

“But what about you?” Rose said, feeling her voice hitch as sadness welled within her chest. “You shouldn’t be alone Doctor. I can’t leave you alone again.”

“Ahhh.” The Doctor laughed, but it was filled with heartache. He sniffed a few times. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be alright. Just be amazing Rose, for me.”

He turned back to the millions of stars, shining together in the inky blackness of the sky. “You know, I’ve heard that Torchwood are hiring. Considering your experience, I sure they’d be more than happy to take you on.”

“Me? At Torchwood?”

“Rose Tyler. Defender of the Earth.”

“Has a nice ring to it.”

The Doctor laughed, then tilted his head down to look at her, tears staining his cheeks. She was crying to now, eyes swimming. “Doctor, how long do you have left here?”

Another sniff. Rose smiled gently at him; the centuries-old Time Lord, reduced to tears because of her. She reached a hand up to his face, cupping it gently as she wiped his cheeks lightly with her thumb.

“Just tonight.”

“Well, then.” She said quietly, gazing into his eyes. “Let’s make it a night to remember.”

She leant in, placing her lips gently on his. He kissed her back, desperate but still tender and soft as a feather.

“Rose Tyler, I love you.”

They stayed there all night, until the first signs of dawn crept over the hillside and the birds sang as darkness began to gradient into hues of light blue. The Doctor and Rose. Together one last time. And as Rose stared up the sky, churning with colours of apricots and lemons, alone now but wrapped in his coat and surrounded by the scent of dusty tweed, polished metal and the freshness of grass after rain, for the first time in six long years, she felt at peace.


	11. The Epilogue

It is a particularly windy October day. The clouds are gun-metal grey and hang low in the sky, making the afternoon unnaturally dark. The salty sea air is electric against her skin as she trudges forward. Her wellies make footprints in the wet sand, only for them to be swallowed again by the waves as they glide up and down the beach. A storm is brewing. Look closely, and you can see it; just a dark smudge on the horizon.

A cry sounds out to her left. She turns so quickly that she almost stumbles. It’s fine. He’s just fallen over. His little blue raincoat is soaked and covered with sand and grit. He’s a little startled, but okay. She breathes again and smiles as she hurries over, brushing him down and picking him up into her arms. His sister is there too; just the outline of a red coat and wild blonde hair in the distance. He looks more like him, with his slim face and shock of brown, scruffy hair.

The wind picks up, so much so that they take turns leaning against it. The force of it allows them to stay upright, and they giggle at the sight of their mother, standing with her arms out as if she is drawing snow angels in the choppy breeze. They spend almost an hour climbing the rocks and inspecting the rockpools for fish and crabs. Her heart is warm when she see’s her son’s face light up with joy at the sight of a sea urchin. A delicate little thing; purple and spiky, it entices him. She has to leap over and snatch his hand away before he can touch it.

She is leading them away from the waves countless hours later, marching to the sound of their cries of protest, when she sees him. They are not alone. He stands at the apex of a steep incline of rocks, all sharp angles and frown lines. She catches sight of him and she stops. A fair few metres away, but close enough to see the grey hair and steely-blue eyes. The wind stops suddenly, and the sound of her children squabbling fades into silence. He keeps his distance, hands stuffed into jacket pockets, but the small smile never leaves his lips. And she starts to smile too. He is wearing it. That old black suit with the red velvet lining and sleek buttons.

She does not question how. Or why. Just stares on. And then she feels the familiar tug of her children as they pull her upwards towards the car. They’re hungry. It’s too cold. But she turns back to him one more time, her eyes filled with gratitude and he nods gently. So, he knew all along? That she would have the life she wanted, but he would remain alone. A sole figure standing against the backdrop of the roaring waves. She wonders how old he is now. How many years have past for him since he left her on that bench as the sun rose.

She nods back, knowing this is goodbye, but aware that he will always be there. Watching over her and her family like a guardian angel.

And then she turns, following her children up the path where the sand meets the mossy grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this has been one heck of a journey writing this! A lot of stress and multiple drafts, but rewarding to finally see this story finally down on paper (metaphorically-speaking) after so many years of being just an idea in my head. This was a bit of a tribute to my favourite doctor, the one I grew up watching as a child and the one who inspires me even now! Thank you eleven! And thank you to all of you who have read this and supported me, much love x


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